


In the Sunlight Somewhere

by laughteaa



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF, dreamnotfound - Fandom, georgewastaken - Fandom
Genre: Angst and Feels, Angst and Humor, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Before Sunrise AU, Dialogue Heavy, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Friends to Lovers, George is a cynical fuck and Dream is quite the opposite, Getting Together, Getting to Know Each Other, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Slow Burn, Strangers to Lovers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-14
Updated: 2021-01-13
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:28:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 23,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27554629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laughteaa/pseuds/laughteaa
Summary: George doesn't believe in destiny, the stars aligning or how humorous the universe can be, according to Dream. But when he meets him on the train, Dream tries to change George's mind as they spend one day together in Vienna. | Before Sunrise AU
Relationships: Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 54
Kudos: 122





	1. The train to Vienna

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time writing dnf fanfic, but if either Dream or George decide that they aren't okay with fics of themselves, I wont hesitate to delete this. If this somehow gets a good amount of kudos, i'll definitely continue it :) 
> 
> (This is also heavily inspired by the movie 'before sunrise'!! You should give it a watch, its a great movie)

The train to Vienna was a long one. Scenery after scenery went by like moving film tape. There goes the forest, there goes the little town by the lake. There goes that lost dog wandering around the side of the train tracks then the man pushing a cart of vegetables passed by too. It went on like this for what seemed like 24 hours when its only been 30 minutes of sitting on this carriage alone. Dream didn’t know why he had to leave. Okay, well, he knew why he had to _leave_ , he just didn’t know why he needed to leave to _Vienna_ of all places. Granted, he already booked a hotel and paid for it, so it would be a waste if he just abandoned his detour (or whatever you’d like to call it), but it wasn’t just the logistics of it. There was something in Vienna that he felt he needed to see. Or experience. It seemed ominous, now that he really put thought into it. Like some kind of unnatural intuition, useless magic. A calling, you could say. An invisible string.

He's always like this. Impulsive, but most importantly, a hopeless romantic. Its what got him in this situation in the first place. Suddenly, he remembered something he stored at the back of his mind, now resurfacing. He sighed, taking out his wallet and removing a photo of someone. Better to face your ghosts then not at all. He ripped the photo in two and dropped the pieces on the floor. He tried not to pay attention to the blooming remorse he felt in his gut. For awhile, he found himself starring at the now destroyed photo, pieces laying stagnant as if it were to come alive and grow limbs to walk back to his wallet, maybe if he just stared long enough. _Well, you win some you lose some,_ he thought as he pushed the pieces further away from his seat by sweeping it with his foot until the pieces are on the threshold of the carriage door. What was once a beloved possession worthy enough of being kept in a wallet is now dust and dirt in a European train. He goes back to looking out the window and pretended he knew what he was doing. His elbow was propped up, palm on his cheek.

Even if he does have second thoughts, he can't change the course of his path anymore. What with the logistics of it all.

He just sat with it and went along for the ride. Maybe something was there waiting for him in Vienna. Wouldn't that be nice? He can’t help but flirt with the thought of having something or someone wait for you. And if there was something waiting for him in Vienna, what then? Just another poof that the universe has a mind that held two opposing ideas at once, holding a preference for both. Dream closed his eyes, hoping to drift into sleep when eventually, he does. He dreamt of Vienna buildings, overflowing gardens, promises and small cafe's. The remorse in his gut eventually died down. He felt like he was doing the right thing.

~

George had enough of this bullshit. The couple sitting beside him kept arguing about what, he didn’t know. They spoke in fast german, talking over the other like they were in a contest to see who can talk the loudest. Whatever the hell it was they were arguing about must be really damn important, he guessed. Or perhaps it was about another pointless and mundane matter couples distract themselves with from the inevitable realization that they don’t love each other anymore. It could just as well be that. He turned the volume in his ear phones up, hoping that can drown out the noise but even that was hopeless. He gave up reading the book he was trying to read. He folded his arms. Unfolded them. Crossed his legs. Uncrossed them. Suddenly his body jumped at the sound of the lady hitting her husbands knee, who was red in the face with anger. Yeah, fuck this, he’s had enough. As he placed his phone and book back in his bag, he got up from his seat, went to claim his baggage above his carriage, and stumped away. He didn’t care if the couple heard his stumps — he actually hoped they did. _Its better sitting in silence alone then having a screaming contest with someone you used to love,_ he thought to himself. _What a nuisance. And a waste._

He passed by other carriages, peaking into them one by one to see if theres any available seats, preferably one without people inside. He tried not to look creepy or weird, but that was a hard thing to do if you decide to get up and go to some strangers carriage in the middle of your journey to Vienna. Unluckily for him, there wasn’t any carriages without people in it, so his only options were to suck it up and ask if he can join someone else’s carriage, or stand by the hallways like an idiot. He’d rather take that carriage option. All the other carriages he passed by already had established friend groups except for one. There was a guy sleeping in the furthest carriage. He had dirty blonde hair that looked warm amidst the sun rays.

George hoped he wasn’t being rude. He knocked at his carriage door a couple of times until the guy opened an eye. He started to sit up in surprise, like he was caught doing something bad. George just smiled and waved rather awkwardly through the glass window. The guy scurried over to the side of his seat where he can open the door. He looked up at him with sleepy green eyes. “Yes?”  
“Hi, I’m really sorry, but could I stay in this carriage with you? There was this couple that kept screaming beside mine, it was just dreadful”. To George’s surprise, the guy laughed. It was a nice laugh, the contagious kind.

“Yeah, yeah don’t worry about it. You can sit across from me.” So George did exactly that. The stranger politely asked, “Where are you headed, if you don’t mind me asking?”  
“Ah, to Paris to visit my grandparents. How about you?” George placed his bag beside his and flopped down on the seat.  
“Vienna,”  
He figured small talk never hurt anyone. “Oh Vienna…have you been there before? Whats in Vienna?” The guy shook his head. “No, no. Um, actually I have no idea why i’m going to Vienna. I have no good reason why I should be in Europe at all. To tell you the truth, i’m kinda going broke to top it all of, so uh yeah, thats that”. He nervously laughed at himself.

“What?” George can’t help but smile. Americans really are something. “Thats…should I be concerned?”

“Depends…I don’t know honestly,” He looked over to his window, as if some marvelous scenery was there to behold. George looked out the window too, but what passed their carriage was nothing more than the stripes of trees rushing past them like a moving pattern of running oak wood. “I just had the urge to go to Vienna. I don’t know why it has to be Vienna honestly. I just…I think theres something there waiting for me? I know it sounds really weird but its like i’m meant to go there. Call it destiny or fate or whatever I guess. People talk about Vienna all the time—“  
“— they really don’t, though,”  
“— and I just thought, well, why not check it out? So yeah, I bought a ticket, booked a hotel for one night and just went with it. Basically, I said fuck it and now here I am.” He then looked to George, expecting a reply. George was quiet for a moment, thinking the strangers words over in his head. “thats…should I be concerned?” The guy scoffed. George politely laughed at that. “I’m kidding! I’m kidding. Its interesting. Its just funny to me that you believe in that kind of stuff I guess.”

He quirked up an eyebrow. “What stuff?”  
“Destiny. Fate. Do you really believe in all that? Why Vienna of all places? What, did you just spot a billboard on the road that had the word Vienna in it and took off? I don’t know, kinda weird. You’re probably the type to have main character syndrome if you ask me.”  
“Ok, listen here, pretty boy,” the guys eyes lit up, now intrigued with the conversation between them. “I have no idea who you are. You come to my carriage — my carriage!— and criticize my questionable decisions and say I have, what was it you said? _Main character syndrome?_ And to prove what exactly, huh? Yeah that’s what I thought, keep laughing all you want. You can’t laugh me out of my questionable decisions, thank you very much.”  
“I mean… they are pretty questionable” He held his hands up in defense. “I don’t know, i’m just here looking out for you is all,”  
The guy laughed once again. It really was a contagious laugh. It warmed him from the inside. “Looking out for me! I barely know you!”

George just smiled. “Well,” he extended a hand to him. “Lets start over then. Hi, I’m George,”

The guy mirrored his smile and took his hand in his. “My friends call me Dream”. Their hands fitted perfectly. “Dream?”  
“Don’t ask, just go with it”.  
  


~

They sat there in silence for awhile. George fished out a book from his bag and started reading it. Dream just continued to stare out the window. He didn’t know why he said all of that, why he overspilled to some stranger. Then again, he’s been told by his friends that he was the overly friendly type of guy. And it wasn’t overspilling anyway. George did ask him why he was going to Vienna, so he answered honestly.

After a moment passed, his knee started bouncing. He didn’t know if it was just him, but the silence between them grew a little awkward. He wanted to continue their little spark of conversation, maybe say something stupid so George would look at him funny again like the way he did when he told him the reason — or rather, lack of reason — why he was on this train. He doesn’t remember the last time he really talked to a stranger like that before. It felt refreshing almost, like the shock of cold water. He opened his mouth to say something until he heard footsteps coming from outside their carriage. Even George looked up from his book. A couple rounded the corner. They stopped right there in front of their carriage, looking at each other with impatience. They were practically giving both boys the front row seat of the performance. The lady had her arms crossed, and the man was shouting a language that Dream thought sounded like german. All of a sudden, the lady slapped her husband across the face and it shocked both Dream and George.The lady stomped away, the guy following after her, shouting incoherence after incoherence, hands flaying around in frantic gestures. You could hear the lady shout something back, and the guy gets even more angry at that, his voice reaching the trains ceiling. Stomp stomp stomp. Shout shout shout. The people right across from Dream and Georges carriage even looked out after the raging couple. It went on like that until the couple was far away, taking their noise with them.

George looked at Dream. Dream looked back, and smiled with a quirked eyebrow. “What the hell was that?”  
“Not one clue.” George responded absentmindedly with a hint of annoyance in his voice as if he’s seen all that before. He went back to his book, but Dream wanted his attention back. He wanted to talk some more. “Was that the same couple you were telling me about?”  
“Hm? Oh definitely,” He replied. “Its so ridiculous. I wonder how they do that,”  
“Do what?” He doesn’t realize it, but Dream leaned a little closer to George. He liked his accent.

George placed his book aside. “I don’t know. Relationships? Marriage? Blegh.” He sticked out his tongue in disgust, crinkling his nose and all.  
“Ah, I see. I didn’t know you were the non committed type.” Dream lamented more to himself than to him.  
“What? no no. I can commit. Well…okay, I mean…I just — no no okay, its not like that. I _can_ commit. Stop laughing, what the hell? Why are you laughing? Listen, its just that you’re bound to get bored eventually, okay? All the things you fell in love with about someone, their mannerisms or gestures or whatever it is you fell for will start to dull with time. Think about it, theres seven billion people in the world— seven billion!— and you choose one person to commit your entire life to?”  
“If it all works out, I guess.”  
“It kind of doesn’t make sense. I guess Its better to experience a few relationships than to expect one long lasting one that would really disappoint you in the end. And people say, ‘oh you shouldn’t think about the end when you’re only in the middle of your relationship with someone’ but isn’t that almost impossible? Lets say you watch the sunset with someone, as you do when you’re in love right, so you think to yourself ‘I wish this moment would last forever’, but theres always that inoperative word. _Forever._ Nothing lasts forever. You realize that and so the night is ruined and the sunset is long gone and maybe tomorrow you guys would break up. And besides, you wake up with different feelings everyday. Who’s to say you wake up one day and decide your feelings for someone are just the same as yesterday? Thats just how it goes. Oh my god, can you please stop laughing?”

Dream can’t help himself. He did not expect all _that_. He didn’t think George would be the talkative type at all. He seemed so shy and…small? A man of few words type of guy. Well, it looked like Dream was easy to assume. It was also quite amusing to him, how George and him were the complete opposites — it only drew him closer to George. “You are so cynical oh my god! What the hell George?” He couldn’t stop laughing. Georges rant wasn’t funny in the slightest — it was actually really fucking sad — but Dreams own amusement got the best of him. “Who broke your heart huh?” George rolled his eyes. “Yeah yeah whatever. I’d say the same for you.”  
“What the hell does that mean?”  
George’s tone was more serious now. “Dream, you’re in Europe with no good reason, broke, and you’re in a train to Vienna with no one but a stranger who makes you laugh like a fucking kettle—’’  
Dream started wheezing harder at that.

“—You’re clearly nuts, going in Europe alone, talking about fate and destiny. Surely theres got to be some back story there…”  
Dream took a moment to calm himself down, and when he did he crossed his arms like a challenge and leaned back on his seat.He crossed his legs too and smoothly said, “Oh, c’mon now. How bout you? You knock on my carriage because I guess the universe —“  
“—ugh the universe? really?”  
“— the universe planned you to knock on my door out of all doors and you start to tell me about your commitment issues—“  
“— I don’t have commitment issues—“  
“to basically a stranger, who by the way, you’re obviously having a good time with.” George looked away at that, embarrassed or unamused, Dream couldn’t tell. He didn’t correct him, anyway, so he kept going. “— and you randomly dump all of that! Nothing lasts forever George? Really? You’re such an idiot. And you’re in denial about it too! Just say you have commitment issues, its alright”. He chuckled lightly, but he didn’t want to end it at that. He wanted to prove his ideals. He took a deep breath. “Alright but hear me out. In all seriousness, I do believe some things last forever. Don’t roll your eyes at me! Stop that! Okay, there, thank you. Now that I have your attention,” He clasped his hands together as if he were holding a mug of hot coffee. George pursed his lips, a small smile beaming across his face.

Dream continued, “Yeah, I do think some things last forever, just not in its original shape? The same feelings are there, only intensified with time. Not dulled. Never dulled. I believe If you really loved someone — and not the Hollywood kind of love where its all romanticized and shit, but the authentic kind with the fights and the occasional miscommunication — you start to fall even harder for them. Because you’ve been with someone so long, you start to notice even the things they don’t notice about themselves, and choosing them everyday never gets old to you. You keep finding more and more reasons why you love them. But obviously change has to happen over time like your bodies and everything external, but the feelings will remain, only stronger and more…mature? Controlled, less raw. Being with the right person never gets dull, though. The way you look at them is the same. Thats what I believe. ”

George leaned his head on the window. “Never dulled? Really? You and I have very different perceptions about life…”  
“Yeah, I guess we do.”

George thought for a moment with his head low, looking at both their shoes. He said in a soft voice, “Well, I think people get sick of themselves. I get sick of myself sometimes. I hate how I sometimes don’t know what to say in a conversation because I have nothing interesting to contribute, so I just sit there in silence feeling see-through until my friends forget i’m even there. I hate how I can’t bring myself to properly adjust my bedsheets the right way every morning, or how I make terrible coffee, I can never find the right combination of milk and sugar, and whenever I have guests over and they ask for coffee, what do I do? I’ll have to give them what they want, but I might as well just give them poison, honestly. I can’t give everyone what they want, exactly how they want it, so I just let it happen to me slowly until…well. Until the moment passes and thats that. I disappoint them. I disappoint me. I hate that about myself. I just let things pass though me. Its so exhausting, and i’m tired of it. So who’s to say other people won’t get tired of it too, the same way I do?”

Dream stared at him. it took a moment for him to register everything he just said, to really chew all of that in one sitting. What George shared to him just now felt more personal than his first rant. Maybe without even realizing it, he just allowed himself to show vulnerability to Dream, and somehow Dream felt honored or…invited. He couldn’t help but relate to it too. George was right. He tries his best to make every moment count, every minute, but just like George he lets it all pass by, not because he’s weighed down by unwillingness to make every minute count, but because of everyones expectations. He gets tired sometimes. Its just natural. But in the times where he doesn’t are the times that made a difference. 

  
“Well…maybe you’d know you’re with the right person if they make you feel like somebody else, then. Someone interesting. Someone you can endure. Maybe thats enough to last long.”  
“Do you really need to lose yourself to feel loved by someone?” George looked up at Dream now, and the moment he does, a sun ray sliced through the window and dashed yellow light across their carriage, making his eyes glisten like embers on top of embers of gold. Dream realized just how big Georges eyes are. He really was only now realizing how pretty the person that sat right across from him was. “God,” George started, scoffing at himself. “That was kinda pretentious. Sorry.”  
Dream started to say something, but the train suddenly halted to a stop, the sound of wheels against rust whistling in their ears. George looked to the window and points with a finger. “Oh, look. This is Vienna.” He looked to Dream then. “Its your stop, right?”  
“Oh, yeah.”  
Dream inspected the window as if that couldn’t be right, but there it is outside. long and behold Vienna’s train station. Some passengers started to get up and out of their carriages, taking out their bags and waking up their friends or their children.

A deep disappointment clenched his heart as Dream brushed the back of his neck. He could feel the disappointment creep into his face by the way George looked at him in analmost sorry look, like it was his fault he had to leave. “Y’know, thats a shame,” he said matter of factly. “I really liked talking to you.”  
Dream faced him and forced a weak smile to lighten up the mood. “Yeah, yeah me too. God, thats such a drag. I really wish I met you earlier, y’know?"  
George pursed his lips. “Yeah. Me too. Well,” He extended his hand to Dream again like when they met. “It was nice meeting you, Dream. And about that whole rant…agree to disagree?” Dream reached out and took it. “It was nice meeting you too. And that rant…nah. I decline the agreement to disagree. I know i’m on the right side.” George just rolled his eyes. “Yeah, okay. Whatever, Dream.”

~

Nothing lasts forever. The inoperative word there is always _forever_. Conversations don’t last forever just like how relationships don’t, romantic or otherwise. Maybe thats why a good percentage of couples end up in divorce. Because their conversations just aren’t the same anymore, or at least the conversations that made their relationship seem rose colored. Its now all replaced with ugly conversations instead. Eventual arguments. Its just a natural effect from spending too much time with someone.

_Being with the right person never gets dull._ Dream just didn’t know what he was talking about.

Thats what George told himself as he sat there, alone in what used to be Dreams carriage. _Nothing lasts forever._

He sighed, looking out the window until he decided to sulk around with his music instead, hoping it might distract him from that feeling of losing to what exactly, he didn’t know. He pressed shuffle on his playlist. I’ve Been Alone Too Long by Soko softly started playing. Typical. He knew If Dream was there, he’d tease him about it. Tell him its some sign from the universe or whatever. Tell him its a cruel joke from the gods above. He would laugh that wheezy laugh of his, and maybe George would smile at him and roll his eyes. None of that mattered anymore. Now, Dream is just some stranger he met on the train to Vienna. That was what it was and that would always be its ending. He paused the music and decided that maybe it was better that way. Sitting there alone in silence. George started to ease into that solemn thought and feign comfortability until from the corner of his eye, he saw someone walk towards him. He felt his eyes widen.

Backpack hung over his shoulder and chest heaving, Dream said “I have an admittedly insane idea, but if I don’t ask you this, its just, well…its just going to haunt me for the rest of my life.”

His heart skipped a beat. Fuck his heart for dong that. “What?” George felt himself smile. Maybe the gods _were_ playing a cruel joke on him. “Get off the train with me,” Dream practically pleaded with convincing eyes. “You can check out the town with me, we could walk around…c’mon it would be fun.”

“But I—“  
“I have a flight back to America tomorrow morning at 9:30, and you need to get to Paris…when?”  
“Tomorrow morning."  
“Tomorrow morning.” Dream echoed back. He’s got a hand placed steady on one side of the threshold of the carriage, and he was starring George down like he was offering him a challenge. Maybe he _was_ offering him a challenge. “That means we get to have one day here in Vienna. I also have a hotel room, anyway.And I mean, in the morning, you can just hop on the next train to Paris. If you have a bad time with me then tell you what, you wouldn’t have to see my annoying face ever again and you can hate me for the rest of your life for wasting your time. However, if you do have a fun time with me, then, well…then I guess I win!”

George just narrowed his eyebrows at this insane and stupid man. But Dream didn’t seem like the type to just give up, and Georges assumption was right. Sighing in exasperation, he sat back down on his seat across from George with an air of determination around him. Whatever room Dream went into, he carried around this lighting sort of energy, the kind that enticed you into doing whatever he wanted you to do. Dream must have been aware of his effect on people from the way he charged electricity into every vowel or syllable that left his mouth. “Listen. I really liked talking to you, even if I don’t agree with your cynical shit and you don’t agree with my optimist shit. And I know you sense a connection too! C’mon, tell me i’m wrong.” George stayed silent. “See?”  
“What would we even do, Dream?"  
“I don’t know! Just walk around see where the universe takes us. I don’t know, thats— thats the beauty of it! I’ll prove you wrong about the universe. Oh c’mon, George, why do you always roll your eyes at me? Be a hopeless romantic for one day, and if it changes something in you, then you have me to thank, the stranger you found in this train. Then maybe you can finally get your head out of that dreary, hopeless hole its in. Y’know its actually really bad for your skin if you keep thinking of negative thoughts like that. We wouldn’t want you to get bad skin now would we?”

Ignoring that last thing Dream said, George responded, “So you’re telling me this is just an opportunity for you to prove me wrong about…about what exactly? The universe?”

“And how humorous it can be sometimes”. George just helplessly laughed.

“Nothing lasts forever.”  
“I’ll prove you wrong.”

  
He lifted an eyebrow at Dream. “I don’t know about that…” But his eyes were telling him to go on.

“God, you’re so hard to convince. Listen, George,” He leaned closer to him. “This is your chance to change your course. Maybe let curiosity take the wheel this time, yeah? What would this handsome and _persuasive_ stranger contribute to your life? Would you take this chance?”

~

Maybe George was the reason Dream bought his ticket to the train to Vienna all along. He hoped that it was George, and even if he isn’t the person he was meant to find, then fuck it. Just like everyone else, Dream didn’t want to be alone, and after spending only 30 minutes on the train with him, he was hooked. He asked George, “Would you take this chance?”.

George looked at him like how he looked at him before, with layer upon layer of golden embers in his eyes. He said, “Let me get my bag”.  
  



	2. Little fires

They decided to place all their bags in the lockers the train station provided before wandering around Vienna. It was just convenient that way. After doing that, they found themselves leisurely walking on a worn out bridge that arches across one of Vienna’s many waterways. Dream has got his hands shoved in the pockets of his jeans and George — well, he didn’t know what to do with his hands. The silence cut deep between them. Silence can do that sometimes. It can be so heavy and _awkward_ that it cuts deep in the spaces between two people. For some time, it was the only thing ringing in their ears, like a loud noise ricochetting against invisible walls. The chirps and chorus of birds and the subtle motion and splash of the waves under them intruded the silence, if only by a little bit.

Dream clucked his tongue. George looked to him, then looked at their walking shoes, then to the scenery (Vienna was really beautiful. In theory and in truth. The plethora of rusty red and brown rooftops that seemed to endlessly go on and on made the town feel small and safe) and then back to Dream. But when he sees him looking at him too, both Dream and George looked elsewhere instead, like they were caught. Finally, Dream punched a hole in the silence. “Okay, this is kinda weird,”

Grateful for him being the first to speak, George replied with a polite smile. “Yeah it kinda is,”

“I guess I just didn’t know what to do after this. Didn’t think this through.”  
He tilted his head to the side. “Clearly.”

Dream furrowed his eyebrows at him, but a playful grin tugged at his lips. “Well I honestly didn’t think you’d say yes to me!”  
“So why did you even ask!”  
He just shrugs nonchalantly. “I took the chance,”

George continued to stare at their shoes. “Well, then I guess I took one too.” A warm feeling settled over his stomach. He really didn’t have any sensible reason to take off to Vienna with this stranger (stranger? is Dream still considered a stranger?) not one reason. And yet.

It was so unlike him. He realized this, and started feeling a little tickle of anxiousness replace the short-lived warmth in his gut. George can be irrational sometimes, he acknowledges this. He was irrational at video games, getting too excited and making the wrong move. But he was never irrational in real life. He was a very practical person, and besides, there was a _very_ distinct difference between video games and real life. So, what changed? What happened? Did he just get too excited at the prospect of spending one day with someone he didn’t know in a town he never set foot on? Was it inevitable that he gave into the thrill of risk taking? Will he regret this? _Did he make the wrong move?_

He must have been doing that thing where he chews on his bottom lip out of anxiousness — he has a lip balm for that, actually. It was vanilla, and it tasted quite decent — because he felt Dreams eyes look at him in concern or worry.

Dream then put on an enthusiastic tone in his voice, changing the atmosphere around them. He was clearly trying to distract George from his thoughts. “Okay, we’re in Vienna. Lets go do something tourist-y. Theres museums, theres um…” George can see the gears running through his mind. Dream scratched his temple. “What else? Theres…uh…paintings I think? what the hell is in Vienna?”

“Uh,” To be frank, George had no clue what was in Vienna either. “Theres…” he took notice of the waters beneath the bridge. “boats? ferries?” It honestly wasn’t even that helpful.  
“Yeah! Boats! Ferries!” George nearly jumped at the sheer enthusiasm of this mans voice. “Do you like boats?” Christ, what was so special about Dream again?

He just shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t think i’ve ever rode in one.”  
“What? Oh c’mon you must have.”  
“I just forgot then. Boats aren’t that interesting.”  
“Well then i’ll make this the most interesting boat ride you’ll ever have” After hearing his own words leave his mouth paired with the smugness in his voice, Dreams enthusiasm faltered. “Okay, no. That sounds wrong. Whatever, you get it.” For a split second, their hands brushed against one another, all electricity and sparks. George felt invisible goosebumps crawl in his arms, but he decided to ignore that for the time being. “Whatever Dream.”

He didn’t want to admit it, but his cheeks started heating up for whatever reason. He hoped to god Dream didn’t notice it, and maybe he didn’t, because he so suddenly grabbed his hand and dragged him along to where a small group of three people were leaning against the rails of the bridge, looking out at golden sunlit Vienna. “Hey! Uh, excuse me?” Dream let go of Georges hand and waved at the strangers. “Do you speak english?” All three of them looked to the two boys. One of them threw a cigarette out in the water.

In a light german accent, the person in the middle wearing the black sweater said “Yes, yes. A little bit. How about you, do you speak german for a change?”

Dream didn’t get that. “What?” All three of them politely laughed at his baffled expression. Black sweater guy explained, “That was a joke,” George covered his mouth and snickered silently at Dream. He brushed it off, gave a short laugh at himself and continued on, ‘Would you happen to know where any of the boat rides or ferries are? We’re just tourists here and we’re a little lost.” He wore that amiable smile of his, that same smile he used when George asked if he could join him in his carriage. George realized it was his way of acting all inviting and friendly.

The girl beside black sweater guy turned to Dream and George and tilted her head as if she were solving a hard equation and was about to get a grasp of the solution. She smoothly leaned back against the rail, and with a cigarette in one hand, she pointed, “Who are you two to each other?” She was mostly talking to Dream since George was waiting behind him, out of the girls view. “Sorry?”  
She repeated her question. “Who are you to each other, if you don’t mind me asking? Boyfriends? We get couples a lot around here in Vienna.”  
George blushed at that. Dream looked back to George behind him, equally flushed in the cheeks, then turned to the girl with the stone cold, serious expression. He chuckled nervously as his hand ran through his hair. “Well—“

“Yep. We’re actually on a honeymoon. Thats why we’re in Vienna.” For the second time, Dream turned to George with wide eyes asking _what the hell?_ His agitation only made George giggle. But to his horror, Dream smirked at him, looked back to the three strangers and in sheer audacity, said matter of factly, “Mhm. We’re on honeymoon. He kept trying to convince me to marry him and after five years I finally gave in.” George slapped Dreams arm, hard. Dream chuckled at him, contagiously, welcoming, a bright sound, lovely and uncomplicated. Again, for the time being, George didn’t allow himself to fall deep into that sound.

The girl just laughed along, looking confused as to wether or not the two boys were actually kidding or not.“Uh huh, okay. Theres a ferry just over there —“ She gave out detailed instructions. Dream and George thanked the three strangers and headed off, shoving one another and talking in playful banter. At that moment, the awkwardness that used to engulf them was long gone and forgotten like an old memory at the back of their heads.

~

They settle into the ferry. There were only two other passengers — a mother and her son sitting side by side. The two boys settled down just a couple of seats away from them, where they could get a good feel of the spring breeze against their cheeks.

The breeze ruffled George’s hair around, brown curls dancing in every direction, but he didn’t seem to care all that much. Dream felt the urge to ruffle his hair up even more, and before he knew it, his hand reached out. But upon the turn of Georges head towards him, he dropped his hand in panic.

George merely gave him a soft smile. He didn't know what that smile meant, but Dream smiled back anyway.It must have meant somewhere along the lines of ‘we’re here. we’re really doing this, I don’t regret this one bit, thank you for making me do this’ or ‘i cannot believe you made me do this and I do not know what you could possibly want out of this but I’m going along with it anyway’. He hoped it was the former. And anyway, Dream didn’t know what he wanted out of this too if he was being frank with himself. It doesn’t exactly matter all that much to him because he approached their situation like how he approached every other situation in his life: by just going with it.

Once they sat down and the boat started going, he decided that he didn’t know much about the boy he’s spending a whole day with, so he did something about that. “Okay, Q&A time. If we’re really gonna spend a whole day together, I need to know more about you. I’ll ask a question and you answer it, then you ask me a question and I’ll answer it.”  
George sat up, attentive. He turned his whole body around to face Dream like he was getting ready to participate in a trivia game show with the intention to take the winning prize back home. “Okay okay. You go first.”

It didn’t take long for Dream to formulate a question. He already had one in mind that he’s been meaning to ask him. “Have you ever been in love?”

All of the motivation in his eyes got sucked out like a vacuum in an instant. George rolled his eyes in disgust. “God. Love? Again? Can we not talk about love for just this one second please?” But alas, Dream was insistent. “Answer the question. We’re not continuing unless you answer it.”

“Okay fine. But no more questions about love. It depresses me.”  
“Okay okay okay. Just answer it.”

George looked away from Dream and stared out into a distance like he was thinking of the right words to phrase a very complicated thought or predicament on the top of his head. “Once. But it was wrong.”

Dream took a moment to process the word _wrong,_ unsure if he should ask. “Wrong?”  
“It was the…wrong way.” George looked anywhere but Dreams eyes. He pursed his lips into a thin line. “Wrong time. It didn’t work out. All you need to know is that it was the sort of breakup where both of you decide in unspoken words that neither of you should contact the other again."

He knew George was uncomfortable and that he should just drop it, but before stopping the words from leaving, his blabbering mouth asked, “So you never contacted them?”

“Well. I did.” Dream couldn’t read Georges face. He sounded like…well, he didn’t sound like anything. His words were void of emotion, no hint of regret or anger. Nothing. Only a small outline of what seemed to be a hollow shape in his words where the sadness was supposed to fill, but even that wretched emotion was nowhere to be found or heard. “It was just…all wrong. I’d rather not talk about it. Anyway,” as if by the flick of a switch, Georges whole demeanor changed from unreadable to engrossed. “Its your turn now. Is there someone you’ll never forgive? Like, never ever.” 

“ooo okay. Thats interesting. hm. Theres one person, but I think I can forgive them with time.”  
“No, no.” George pointed a finger at him. “It has to be someone you’ll never forgive, even with time.”

“Fuck, okay. I really don’t know. No one comes to mind. I guess that says a lot about me.”

He scrunched up his nose in what Dream can only describe as the most endearing way possible. “Aw, you’re no fun. Can I ask another?”

“No no. You wasted your turn. My turn again!”  
“What the hell. That's not fair.”  
“Take it up with god, Georgie. Now, is there someone you’ll never forgive?”  
“Oh my god.”

“What? I'm curious.” George looked like he was almost about done with Dream. He crossed his arms over his chest and said “Yes. There's just one person I’ll never forgive. And it so happens to be the same person that I—“ he stuttered a little bit. “That I was in love with.”

Like the absolute idiot that he was, Dream replied with a simple, almost shocked “oh.” And immediately regretted it after. The word just hung over them like a mistletoe. Awkward.

Thankfully, George was quick to brush it aside like he never heard him. “What's the nicest thing you’ve ever done to someone?”

“That's a good one,” He thought about it for a moment. He could definitely tell that he made George uncomfortable when he asked about love, so Dream wanted to make up for it by sharing something interesting or engaging enough to cover the holes up in their conversation. After thinking of a good one, he went into story mode and tried to articulate the scene as best as he can manage. “I think I was maybe nine or eight. My mom was sick and she told me not to go inside her room cause I might catch whatever sickness she had that time, which was a real bummer for me cause I absolutely hated sleeping in the dark alone. I couldn’t sleep alone in my room until I was thirteen, I swear.” George smiled at that. He continued, “I always thought there was someone in the darkness at the foot of my bed, or the tree branches outside my window would transform into big scary hands. Anyway. I had my older sister sleep beside me in my room, so it was all good. But I was really worried about mom cause I had it in my eight-year-old mind that she was as afraid of the dark as I was, and that some creature at the foot of her bed would snatch her or the monster outside the window would creep in. So late at night, I would sneak out of my room and guard her door so no monsters would get in. I was careful not to wake my sister up. While I was guarding her door I had this flashlight on one hand and I think I had a batman figurine on the other to keep me company. Id flash that flashlight back and forth between hallways as if the light was keeping the monsters at bay or whatever. I really _really_ hated being there in the dark hallways alone. but if it meant my mom was safe, then it was just something I had to do. I'd try to keep myself awake by staying alert, but id eventually fall asleep. My sister kept finding me collapsed outside my moms door every morning, and it freaked her out every time. I still kept doing it though.”

George kept staring at Dream. He had the most purest and softest smiles Dream has ever seen in his 21 years of living. He took a mental snapshot of it and kept it in a mental cabinet in his head to keep. He found himself getting greedily attached to that smile, and he didn’t know if that was going to be a problem.

“That's…wow Dream. What did your mom say about that?  
“Oh, I don’t know. She died.”

That small smile disappeared, replaced with pale hands covering his mouth in shock and grief, eyes wide with a million ‘oh fucks’ Dream could read.

“Oh. Oh my fuck. I’m so sorry.” 

In a sudden outburst, Dream erupted, “I’m kidding George i’m kidding!”

George erupted right after. “GOD I FUCKING HATE YOU SOMETIMES DON’T KID AROUND ABOUT THAT STUFF WHAT'S WRONG WITH YOU” Dream laughed so hard he was wheezing, getting the attention of the mother and the child a few seats away from them but his mind felt so clouded and hazy with laughter, he couldn’t care less. George kept swatting his arm with the back of his hand, obviously annoyed, and with good reason. “Okay okay! I’m just messing with you calm down!” After calming himself down, Dream continued, “She got better right after and I kept telling her it was because I saved her from the monsters. All thanks to me. she called me her little knight after I told her what I did.” Quietly, almost inaudibly, Dream added “She still calls me that.” George's eyes glinted from sheer annoyance to sheer smugness in a millisecond. “She still does? Aw, now that's really cute. You are such a mama’s boy.”  
Dream scoffed at that. “Yeah. And?” George gave out a small giggle. “It really is sweet though.”

Dream tried really hard to ignore that warm sensation in his gut, that all too familiar warmth that meant the first signs of something…new. Some might call it butterflies in your stomach, but what he felt when George looked at him like that, the sun making his eyes shine like sunstone and that _fucking_ smile —

it was more like little fires everywhere inside him. Like all George needed to do was light a match and blow on the tinder, and Dream would instantly erupt in flames for him. Silently, secretly, he told himself it wasn’t that deep, _you only just met the guy._

“What do you do when you’re feeling lonely?”  
“I don’t know. I read my books, occasionally. I listen to music.”

“Oh c’mon George, put some flavor into it,”

He sighed in exasperation, but continued on anyway. “Alright alright. I don’t know, I just try to let the feeling pass by doing whatever I can to keep me busy. Ill try to distract myself. if i’m not reading a book or playing music, I play video games as my escapism to the point where I think I depend on it in a not so healthy way. it works though, I end up forgetting how to even feel sad.”

Dream arched an eyebrow. “wow, you are so…”  
“Emotionally stunted? emotionally deprived? eh, well. it's my special power,”

“That is absolutely not a special power, you need help. it is depressing and unhealthy. What video game?” George laughed. “Minecraft, mostly.”  
“Oh shit! Me too!”  
Rolling his eyes, he replied back, “Christ. Anyway, describe your perfect day.”

Closing his eyes to feign concentration, he told him exactly how he envisioned this perfect day of his. “I'm in Vienna. I’m sitting beside an emotionally stunted British boy with big brown eyes. I don’t know what he’s thinking, but he seems interesting enough to keep. I hear the waves splashing and birds singing their usual morning song. we have no idea where we’re going,” He opened his eyes to see George looking at him intently. “but that's okay.” Just when he thought he saw something change in George's expression, it quickly became clear it was simply one of nonchalance and indifference when he looked away from him. “Cheesy. Give me a question.” Dream obeyed despite being a little hurt he didn’t return the sentiment. _That's just George for you._ A thought that inaudibly voiced itself. He wasn’t an easy one to crack, that's for sure.

 _“_ Have you changed your mind about anything recently?” Georges grin took him by surprise. He was so quick to switch on him sometimes. “isn't that what this whole trip is about? aren’t you trying to change my mind about the ‘universe’?”

“Why do you say it like that? and yes, actually I am.”

“Well, you’re doing a shit job at it”. Talking to George like this felt like a race. luckily, or well, maybe unluckily for George, Dream was naturally a competitive person. Could be a fatal flaw, sure, but in situations like this, being competitive won him the competition. “It's only been half an hour Georgie,” he leaned back on his seat. “Let me work my magic. Just sit there and relax in the meantime”.

“Your questions are lame. Give me another.”  
“Fine.” Dream thought deeply about it. “What do my shoes tell you about me?” George looked down at his lime green crocs, then looked back up at him, his eyes unreadable. He simply stated, with no explanation, “You’re from Florida.” If this were a competition, clearly George would be winning.  
“Woah how’d you know!?”

“Stupid Dream. You are so stupid.” He asked, “What about me intrigues you?”

That warmth in his belly again, a hungry albeit quiet thing. It was a good question, if not a dangerous one. Dream did not filter his words when he honestly answered “Everything. Your mind. I like the way your brain works.”

George blushed. It was an obvious, pink blush that spread across his cheeks. Dream could not have missed it. It only fed the little fires inside him, and he knew — he knew so damn well — that George was making him feel emotions he thought he would never feel again, at least not this quickly, not this early. Yet, like a little tug of a ribbon tied around his body, he held back just a little bit. Held back from what, he didn’t know. Nor did he want to know.

It was at that moment that he realized just how ironic his answer was. They were the complete opposites — Dream an optimist and George a cynic. Despite this and the fact they’ve only known each other for a couple of hours, there was something about George that made Dream certain that he could be his favorite person. He really could.

He watched as George bit his bottom lip. Dream opened his mouth to say something, say he was just joking around or ask him another question, but George beat him to it. “What's the worst pain you’ve ever felt that wasn’t physical?” It wasn’t even his turn anymore, but that question took Dream off guard.

~

_He’s such an idiot._ That was the phrase that George silently chanted in his mind when Dream answered his last question. It would have been fine if he was only teasing. He would know if he were. But something in the way Dreams voice dropped low and serious told George that he wasn’t teasing. Not at all. That Dream might actually mean those words scared George a little bit.

_I like the way your brain works._ Maybe he was just overthinking the suddenness of it all. Still, he did not know how to proceed with the answer Dream gave, so George hit him with another: What's the worst pain you’ve ever felt that wasn’t physical? It was a question asked by his therapist. Well, it was the _only_ question asked by his therapist since he canceled the whole thing after that one session. His friends got really pissed at him after that fiasco.

George hated that question.

So he didn’t know why he had to ask Dream. The question was just sitting there on his head, left unattended and avoided.

In the forgotten background, George heard the morning song of birds chirping beyond branches of trees that seemed to loom over the boat, their pillows of emerald green and orange leaves making the sunlight fall down in a pattern of splotches. The little boy seats away from them laughed at something his mother said to him, and Dream looked at his hands where they were neatly folded on his lap as he answered the question in that serious, low voice of his. “My dad came home after seven months. he snuck into our garage and I caught him when I shouldn’t have. My mom told him not to come back because, well. There's really no other way to put it, but drugs got the best of him and she told him there wasn’t any place for him in the house anymore. the last time I saw him he had these really obvious dark bags under his eyes, but when I saw him standing there in the garage that day, they looked even darker. it was like he didn’t have any eyes left, just full of that _dark thing_. He told me not to tell mom and asked where some of the unused silverware was. I knew he was gonna sell it in exchange for…y’know. I gave it to him anyway. Then he looked at me in the eyes but I still can't see his. all I could see was the dark and it kind of scared me, I backed away.Honestly, I felt like I was looking at a ghost. He told me he was sorry, then left. I was twelve. that was the last time I ever saw him.”

It stunned George to silence. He was suddenly aware of the drumming of his heart. Futile and useless words flew past his head, hoping there was something, anything he could say, but what could possibly be an acceptable response? Maybe there was no acceptable response, not when George insisted on the pointless need to alleviate Dreams personal sufferings, even if that incident was years past him. A wave of guilt soon washed over him as he soon realized just how hard Dream was trying to really reach out to George and connect with him, even going as far as to share the personal aspects of his life.

It grew silent between them for some time. “I’m so sorry, Dream”. When it was clear George could not find anything else to say, Dream filled the silence with yet another question, ignoring the raw emotions he spilled. “What has been your earliest recollection of happiness?”

George took this as an opportunity to somehow make it up for slacking on Dream. An eye for an eye. “This was at my grandma's house in Paris. She just moved from London, so the whole place was a mess and my mom told me to stay outside until they were done fixing it all up. Along the driveway, there was this little slope that I wanted to ride my bike on so I could slide down, but I couldn’t do it. I was scared of falling and bruising my knees, but I really was tempted to do it. the neighbors kid eventually found me — I was 4 by the way, and he was the same age—and said he wanted to slide down the slope too, so he kept telling me to hand over my bike but of course I told him to mind his own business. So then he made a deal with me. if he could get me to go down the slope, I would let him borrow my bike. he somehow convinced me I wouldn’t fall off and well, I gave in. he was one of my first friends. He kept pushing me down that slope, and it was fun and exciting every time the air would rush past me. My stomach would drop as I was going down. I remember laughing. I was the middle child in the family so my parents didn’t really give me that much attention. That was the first time I felt like I…I don’t know like I mattered I guess?” He signed. It didn’t have the same emotional brevity, but it is still and always will be a memory that he cherished. “Sorry, it's boring”.

Dream was grinning at him, his eyes glistening. “No, no no no. Not at all. It's cute.” Before they could say anything else, the boat slowed to a stop. It was the end of the ferry ride.

They stood up and walked their way out, George ahead of Dream. He hopped out of the boat and watched as Dream passed by the mother and the little boy, who pointed at his stupid lime green crocs on their way out. “I want that one” The boy demanded to his mother, who only laughed at him. “No, no,” she picks him up and carries him out. She must have thought Dream was deaf or something. “Only for poorly dressed Americans”.

Dream sulked behind George as he mercilessly teased him. He let him. 

~

They stopped by a vinyl store, even if neither of them had a record player back home. Dream just wanted to see what the hype was all about, and he never once set foot on a vinyl store before. Now he got to do it in Vienna.

It wasn’t big, but it wasn’t exactly small either. Just the right size. There were discs hanging on the ceiling as decoration and some rusty and new record players displayed on the huge glass windows for sale.

George strolled over to the corner of the store to check out the stickers on the counter. He looked closely at them one by one, turning them around this way and that like his life depended on it. Dream made a mental note to buy him some behind his back before they leave. 

He carefully looked through the records, some familiar bands and names here and there, until he found something worth listening to. Crossing the room and patting George on the shoulder, he asked him if he’s ever heard the band “The Lumineers” before. George replied no. “But there's a listening station over there,” he pointed to a small, empty room. “You wanna give it a listen?” Dream nodded yes and headed for the listening station.

“I didn’t know they had these.”  
“Yeah, it's pretty cool. My friends and I used to mess around here,” Dream gave him a look.

“No. Not like that. I meant —“ He was interrupted by an annoyingly loud wheeze. “Y’know what, whatever, just let me play the damn thing.”

It was a small room meant for one person, so they had to really squeeze in to fit. Their arms were touching. The flat wooden walls on either side of them should have made the whole experience feel claustrophobic, but it wasn’t like that at all. Dream did not want to use the word _intimate_ to describe it, not exactly. Yet he could not find any other word that suited just as well. He handed George the record since he was closest to the record player. Before playing it, he took a momentary glance at its cover. It was just a plain black and white photograph of what looks to be a woman and a child holding an umbrella behind their back. Or maybe it was just a really big hat, Dream couldn’t tell. It reminded him of that mother and child on the boat with them from before. (He looked down at his shoes. They looked perfectly okay to him).Under that photograph was the title of the song — “Stubborn Love”.

George gently extracted the disc from its cover and placed it on the record player. With a slender thumb and forefinger, he moved the needle to touch the rotating black circle, and the soft music kicked in.

It was the guitar first, then the violin, and then both. It joined together like perfect puzzle pieces, and then the vocals began singing.

_“When we were young, oh oh we did enough,  
_

_When it got cold ooh ooh we bundled up,  
_

_I can’t be told, ah ah it can’t be done”._

Dream stole a glance at George, only for George to meet his emerald green eyes and quickly look away. They always seemed to do this, he realized. Stealing glances. Taking whatever they can take from the other in shy, subtle movements, not quite knowing if it was okay but at the same time knowing at the back of their heads that the other was doing the exact same thing. Reaching.

They felt so close. Just when Dream thought they couldn’t get any closer, he felt fingertips brush against his own fingertips, shoulder against shoulder.He was suddenly aware of their height difference. That shouldn’t be able to tug at his heartstrings like that.

He stole another look at the boy beside him and this time the boy beside him held his gaze. It was this moment, this exact moment that he froze in time, hitting the replay button every time their eyes looked away from the other. But you don’t need to worry about that yet. That comes later. Now, he thought of that line he read over and over again in his English course, about how love is to deny oneself and be consumed by flames. Dream thought it wasn’t possible. He underlined that whole essay except that one line. He always thought it was a bad thing. They were taught that fire was a dangerous thing to play with as kids. Love was supposed to feel safe — it was supposed to ground you and tether you to the ground. Love needed to be that sensible thing he came home to every time he would spend a day in wild confusion, look at it in the face and suddenly make things make sense.

But when he looked at the boy beside him, Dream figured he didn’t know a damn thing about love or sense. He only knew that the flames were consuming him.

_“Its better to feel pain, than nothing at all_

_The opposite of loves indifference_

_so pay attention now_

_i’m standing at your porch screaming out”_

He thought he saw George’s lips quirk up in a small smile. _That fucking smile._

Dream felt his lips do the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter took longer then expected ! sorry about that woops. Hopefully i'll be updating this in a consistent pace, but i will definitely finish this story, ive had it in my head for so long u have no idea. Comments and feedback are very very very appreciated :]


	3. Something to believe in

**Grandma:** Can’t wait to see you tomorrow! (read 2:46)  
 **Grandma:** I’m here to give you all the support you need (read 2:48)  
 **Grandma:** I know it's hard going back here. It's hard for all of us. but we’re all here for you, sweetheart. Please reply when you see this :) (read 2:50)  
 **Grandma** : You just need closure. (read 3:10)

His grandma sent him three more messages after that, but George didn’t have it in himself to read them. Couldn’t even spare a glance.

He allowed himself to be carried away by futile conversations with the stranger he met on the train to Vienna, and for a brief moment, he thought that everything was alright. He thought that he was perfectly okay.

Dream made him feel like he could still laugh. _Really_ laugh. Like he didn't have to hold back, didn't have to fake it. and it was nice. And maybe he was selfish for not wanting the reality check. Maybe he was the bad guy. Maybe --

He tried to not put too much thought into it. 

~

“Reincarnation.”  
“Sure.”

“Soul mates.”  
“Yes. Obviously.”  
Sarcastically, “ _Obviously_.”  
Dream got George's habit of rolling his eyes.  
“Parallel universes.”

“Yes. Real. A hundred percent. Do you not believe it?”  
George did that thing where he slightly tilted his head to the side and scrunched up his nose. Dream figured that it either meant that he was looking for an answer to a question he didn’t much care for or he just didn’t know the answer at all.   
  
“I’m not sure. I can’t really wrap my head around different realities. I think we made up the concept of alternate realities to comfort ourselves. If this reality, the reality you’re in right now isn’t exactly to your liking, you turn to the concept of an alternate reality where things are in your favor. That way you’re comforted with the thought that at least some version of yourself out there in the universe is turning out alright.”

Dream wanted to counteract his point, but George cut him off before he could, continuing. “It's kinda like a religion now that I think of it. Believing in something for comfort.” They’re walking on the narrow, empty streets sandwiched between cafes and flower shops. Different scents waft past them — the scent of ground coffee, store-bought honey bread, white daisies, and freshly picked peonies. People come in and out of their peripheral, but they don’t notice the busy background of life. Good conversations can be escapism from the vigorous weight of reality, sometimes, and it was nice. 

George added, “Not that it actually matters.”  
“Not a big fan of religion?”  
“Agnostic.”  
Dream hummed in agreement. Says, “You’re wrong though.”  
“About…being agnostic?”  
“About parallel universes. It's the opposite of a comforting concept. There are other versions of you with different alterations of the life your living and one of them is better than the other. Than _yours._ It's like your missing out on your own life. There's nothing comforting about it. It's so _lonely._ ”  
“Yeah, I get your point. But,” George kicks over a pebble. Dream kicks it back. “What if you’re already living the best version of your life? What if this is the universe where things are in your favor? You just wouldn’t know that, would you?”

Dream looked at George. There was a wayward strand of hair that covered his eye. He found himself resisting the urge to reach out and tuck it behind his ear. Maybe in another universe, he was brave enough to reach out. In this universe, though, his hand remains at his side.  
  
“Hm. That makes sense too.”   
“See?” And then after a moment passes, he adds, “Everything is miserable.”

Dream abruptly stops short in his tracks. Grabs George's hand to stop him as an exaggerated snort escapes Dream, an obnoxious sound.   
  
“What the fuck? You completely just contradicted what you said! You just told me that alternate universes were a comforting concept, now you go and switch on yourself!”   
George simply pursed his lips, A grin slowly creeping across it. His eyes are glistening like how it always does.   
  
_God,_ Dream thinks. _He is such an idiot._ _I hate him so much._ But his heart is beating with every passing millisecond from the touch of his arm. As if it had a mind of its own, his hand decided to stay put in its convenient position, holding unto George's sleeve like it was made to do exactly that. 

George didn’t comment on his hand.  
Seemingly pressured, he hurriedly explains his side, that grin never faltering. “Yes! it's comforting but you don’t realize it because you’re too caught up in the loneliness of it all, which makes the whole concept miserable!”

Dream lifts a perplexed eyebrow. George ignores it. “Why do you think you were so adamant on insisting that parallel universes exist when yet you also insist that it's a lonely concept? Didn’t you say you were an _optimist?_ Hm?” He didn’t reply for a while, which seemed to give George the boost of confidence. It wasn’t the appropriate situation for his ego to feel as hurt as it is now, but well. Dream is the way he is.

“Yeah. Exactly. You fall in love with the idea of loss. That's the thing with you self-proclaimed optimists. Always finding a reason to put rose-colored glasses on something hopeless and obsessing over it.”

George started walking ahead of Dream as he follows, still processing. By this point, he already let go of his sleeve. “The concept of parallel universes comforts you because it gives you hope that somewhere out there, you have everything you ever wanted. It _should_ comfort you because it just means that, well-- you exist. You're alive, all flesh and bone, and you're meant to be here, in this universe. Yet people are so consumed by the idea that they might not be living the best version of their life. You might have everything you ever wanted but somehow you feel that it isn’t in this reality, which just makes the whole thing miserable because you’ll be stuck guessing if this is the best version of your life when, tell you want, it doesn’t matter. You'll die anyway, and you’ll either be comforted or conflicted with all these -- these thoughts, and you can’t possibly spend your entire life deciding which wolf to feed. Just…just live your life! This —“ He gestures to their surroundings, only now giving attention to where they were. “This is all your gonna get. Make what you will of it.”

There's a sort of crazed frenzy in his eyes.

Dream thought about it for some time. "I hate you when you're right."   
George shot back, "No, you don't hate me."  
 _No, I don't._

He likes it when he gets riled up on something. It makes him excited to live.

Dream replied, “It doesn't really matter.” It was like tossing a coin without knowing if he was for heads or tails. It was like taking a chance he didn’t know was there to take. “I know this is the best version.”  
He snickered. “What do you mean?”  
“I know this is the best version because I’m with you aren’t I?”

If George blushed, Dream didn’t notice because suddenly, like an obstacle from the great god himself, a bike is rushing straight to their direction at concerning speed with George right smack on the middle of the road.  
  
Without thinking, his hand traveled back to his arm like muscle memory as he pushed George out of the way within the second.

the sound of bike bells frantically ring, and what Dream can only assume were flying cuss words in German meant for them. He didn't know if the biker threw a middle finger in their direction or if he was just imagining it. But the bicycle and its asshole owner is soon long gone, riding off past them.   
  
“God,” George catches his breath. He was clutching Dreams shirt for dear life. “Thanks.”

He’s got him in arms, still holding. Every fiber of his being was screaming for him to never let go, but alas, the stupid, rational part of his brain lets go. It shouldn't be that hard. Why was it so hard? “Yeah, of course...what an asshole…” He muttered to himself, still shaken. 

"You alright?"

  
George straightened himself out, quick to move on from the situation. “Whatever, it's fine." He ruffled his hair a bit, said, "Huh. I actually think I know this place.” Oblivious to the pounding in Dreams chest. “There's this cemetery my grandma and I visited when I was a kid. I'm pretty sure it's just around here. I wanna go visit it.”

“You and your grandma visit random cemeteries?” George began walking in the direction of this cemetery, Dream trailing behind him.   
  
That little comment he made was forgotten, maybe intentionally. Small, tiny knots begin to tighten in his stomach, but he gives those inexplicable feelings no mind. “My grandma is catholic. She visits this church and there just so happens to be a cemetery behind it. She says we have to respect those buried there before we can use their sanctuary. Or whatever Catholics say.”   
Dream thought about it. “That's so ironic.”  
“What?”  
“People praying for the well-being of their lives while the dead are like, just behind the church. It's like flaunting your youth. So filled with aspirations and passions, while the dead are buried under you, aspirations and passions expired,”   
“ _Blah blah blah blegh blegh_ shut up you’re annoying. And don’t laugh at the dead, that's rude.”  
“I'm not laughing!"  
“You’re smiling.”  
“That's not laughing. You’re not even catholic George, why do you care!”  
“ _Now_ you’re laughing.”

A poster pasted on one of the lamp posts caught Dreams attention. “Hey, wait! Look at this.” George stops and peers over his shoulder to take a good look at the poster. It was of a simple picture of a lady and a guy in fancy outfits dancing underneath a big chandelier. It announced some kind of public ball in some kind of plaza. Everyone was invited to celebrate Valentine's day. Well, everyone with an entrance fee. “But it's just February nine. It's not even Valentine's day yet.” George said. 

“Doesn’t matter.” Dream ripped it off of its lamp post and folded it in a neat square. Buried it in his pocket.   
“And what do you think you’re doing with that?”

Dream gave a nonchalant shrug as a response. They continued walking. Slowly, the knots in Dreams stomach begin to ease as their conversations shelter them in their own secret sanctuary only the two of them belonged to.

It turned out that the cemetery George was talking about was closer than expected. Before entering the church itself, George led them behind to visit the cemetery. Dream didn’t know what he was expecting this graveyard to look like, but it was surely not this overgrown, sunken garden.   
  
It was ironic, really. This was supposed to be a place for the dead after all. And yet, life teemed out in every crevice, nook, and cranny of the place. Willows provided a ceiling over all their heads, and splotches of the weakening sunlight gently fell down on the mossy ground.

There were flower bushes everywhere, and Dream hovered his fingertips over the leaves and baby soft petals of flowers he couldn’t name.

Now he saw why George wanted to visit. This might be the most beautiful graveyard Dream has ever seen. The thought of all those skeletons beneath them was momentarily forgotten. He was too caught up in all this life to really care. He thought he saw a rabbit pass by. 

“My grandma tried to make me believe in God. I think for a while I did. I don’t know when I stopped believing though. I guess I just started asking big questions.”  
“Questions like?”  
“Like, if god created the universe, who created god? Why the big bang theory?” For a while, he didn’t say anything more. And then, “If god exists, where is he? Stuff like that,” They carefully trod across the garden, Dream following Georges lead.

He figured that George was looking for something specific, but he didn’t ask. Instead, he said “It's really beautiful here,” almost to himself than to anyone else.

George stopped walking. Dream too. “If god exists, I don’t think he exists inside of us.” He almost whispered the words like he was sharing a secret he never shared with anyone else.

“So where is he?” Dream found himself whispering too, enchanted by his spell.

“Here.” George pointed a finger to Dream, then back to himself. “In the spaces between us. I think we make god in moments like this.” George cracked up a smile. “Does that make sense?”

He gets like this sometimes. Nervous he wasn't making any sense, that he’d make a fool of himself when all he ever wanted to do was to allow himself to get this vulnerable. Dream could tell.

He could also tell that George had amazing stories to tell, and he wanted to listen to each and every one. Terrifyingly, he realized he wanted to be a part of one. He wanted to be a story George told to other people. “Yes, of course. Keep going.”

George continued, “We invent or create things to worship or comfort us. it doesn’t have to be this big and grandiose thing like religion, y’know? It could just be this.”

“What is this?”  
“talking with you.”  
“with me?”  
“It's something that comforts me, isn’t it?

The drumming song in Dreams heart might actually give him a heart attack. He hides it with a cocky grin just because he can.   
  
“What are you saying?”

Softly, so softly, he says, “I'm saying you’re something I believe in.” and suddenly, George felt close. Close enough for Dream to brush his eyelashes if he could, but still too far away for him to hold his hand without any good reason. Or maybe it was just Dreams faltering courage.

How could he be so calm? How could he say these things and not expect Dream to —

to what, exactly?

He couldn’t handle it. “Why are you suddenly cheesy?” George merely rolled his eyes. “That's not cheesy.” He continued to walk, and like always, Dream continued to follow him. “It's just how I feel.” And that was that.

~

He didn’t know what he was saying until he actually said it. _“You’re something I believe in.”_ It was supposed to do no harm. Just a friendly thing. It was the truth after all. But when put out of context, even George had to admit that it could sound like something way more intimate than he intended it to be. What Dream didn’t know was that there were layers to it.

But how the hell was George supposed to explain that? He thought of his grandma’s unread messages, and he was suddenly aware of the blooming guilt in his chest. His heart hated himself for being so distant, not just to his grandma, but to…well, everyone. That deep, secret, and wretched part of himself didn’t want Dream to find out just how fucked up he is in the head.

It's fine. He’ll worry about it all later. There was still time, after all.

“There they are.” George pointed at the gravestone he was searching for. This had to be the same one, he was pretty certain of it. He stopped right in front of the old stone, where a cross stood tall and holy despite the years that had gone by ever since it was placed. The engraving read a name, but its letters were unintelligible due to its entanglements with time. To the living, the words just looked like scratches against a solemn stone.

“You can't really read it anymore, but if I remember correctly, they were 12 when they died. That meant something to me…I was the same age when I found this.”

From beside him, George could feel Dreams eyes looking at the gravestone. He continued, “Now I’m 24 and they’re still 12.”

“Yeah. I guess that's right.”

The sun was about to go down. Purple shades covered the graveyard now, and the greenery that surrounded the two boys looked like shadows in this jagged light. “Hm. That's funny.” It was funny in the sense that it wasn’t funny at all. just something to think about. Or not. He didn’t say this though. Both of them knew what he meant.

“Is this why you went here? To see this?”   
George shrugged. “Nostalgia.” That felt like a good enough explanation.

“Well, can’t argue with that.” Dream looked over to the other direction, where the Church stood complacent. “Wanna go inside? heard they have free water.”

“Ew. That's disgusting Dream, people touch that.”

They make their way to the church, this time Dream in front of George.

Dream kept hovering his fingertips over the flower bushes. He wanted to warn him of any potential thorns, but to him, Dream almost seemed like he could never bleed, anyway. He was untouchable in a sense, and while he knew this to be false, his perception of the boy was one of quiet admiration. Maybe it had something to do with the way Dream carried himself like he shaped the very dirt he stepped on.

He was, in a way, like a god. And yes, George was aware that it was just Dreams god complex getting in his head. Even with the small amount of time he’s known the guy, he didn’t have to r _eally know_ him for years to pick up on his unfaltering ego. Still, he would never tell any of this to him, never tell him that he marveled at the way he was, the way he worked. Over his dead body. (He never got to tell him, anyway.)

Its been so long since George visited this church, yet his eyes always wander in awe every time. It was true that he didn’t have any faith for the religion this house worshiped, but the frescos in the ceiling of the carefully painted angels bathing in the heavens, the great golden altar with golden goblets and golden plates and the illuminating candles on each and every corner warming the grey, cold stone walls made him appreciate the work of worship.

Church scared him a little if George were being honest with himself. It was much bigger than himself, and there was something about it that terrified him in a way he almost admired.

“Damn,” whispered Dream. His lips slightly apart in what George can only describe as astonishment, eyes wide with wonder. He was looking up at the arched ceilings. George probably looked like that when he was 12 when he first saw the church.

Together, they sat on the nearest pew to the giant wooden doors. They were both afraid of getting anywhere close to that big alter. “Their water must be really fucking good.” Dream mumbled from beside him.

“Oh my god.”

And then before he knew it, George's phone was ringing, cutting through the moment.

He got it out of his pocket despite knowing who it was. George pressed decline and instantly switched it to silent mode, trying to give the sinking guilt in the pit of his belly no mind. He gulped.

“You gonna get that?” Dream asked.   
“No, it’s alright. It's my friend. He always calls for no reason.” George did not like lying because he did not see the point in it, but mostly because he was terrible at it.

“Mhm, alright then.” But Dream seemed to buy it anyway. George felt like he was betraying him, in a sick and twisted way.  
  


Quitely, he breathed in and breathed out. 

They sat there for a while longer, neither of them breaking the silence.   
  
It was the comfortable sort of silence, where you could hear everything and nothing at once. And then Dream leans on George's ear,“y’know, I actually thought we had to drink the holy water.”

“What!?” George slipped out a started chuckle. “What is wrong with you? That's disgusting!”  
Dream brought a finger to his own lips, whispering “That's gods holy water, Georgie you shouldn’t say that in front of him. He’ll get offended.”

“Wait, did you?”  
“Did I what?”  
“Did you actually drink the water people touch to make the sign of the cross…”  
Then all of a sudden, Dream moved his finger to Georges lips, telling him to shush. He was still whispering when he said “I’ll tell you later, okay?” George grabbed a hold of Dreams wrist, pushing his finger away from him while holding it up between their faces. “You did. You actually drank it you, stupid idiot —“

The loud crash of the goblet toppling off from the priest's alter made both boys jump, startled.  
The sound seemed to ricochet across the cold stone walls like an unholy intruder. It was so sudden that it felt like a knife, swiftly cutting across the air around them.

Neither of them did anything for a full five seconds.

George blinked a few times. “Did—did that cup just fall…”  
Now they dropped their voices to a sober whisper, “Is…is that supposed to mean something…or..?”

“This is because of you and your stupid fucking holy water, now gods pissed at us.”  
“What the fuck! don’t swear in the church George,”

“You’re not even Catholic why should you care!?” George laughed, repeating the words Dream said to him from a while back. He watched as Dream turned red in the face from what might have been embarrassment. “I hate you,” he whispered, looking away from the boy beside him. “No,” George felt euphoric. “No, you don’t.”

Dream turned his head to face George. Something changed in the way Dream looked at him, or maybe George was just seeing things that weren’t there. “No, I don’t.”

They stared at the fallen goblet on the cobbled floor. It was getting really dark outside. The blackness of the night teeming into the church like wine. The sound of birds died, replaced with the buzz of flies.

“Seriously, how _did_ the water taste like?”

He heard Dream lightly laugh. “Uh. Tasted like water, I guess. Although there was a weird aftertaste…”  
“Ugh.” George made disgusted noises, scrunched up his nose, and stuck out his tongue.

The painted angels from the ceiling looked down on the two boys. If you look closely, you can see the yellow and orange sun from around the corner, where a lone angel glides towards. Despite the angels impending doom, they looked happy, almost contented as they try and graze their fingertips along the suns burning edge.

~

  
  
  


Dream did not know how his hand got to where it was now. Inches away from George’s hand, staying still and placid between them on the pews.

Maybe it was the comfortable silence that engulfed them, maybe it was the courage granted upon him from god himself (even if he didn’t believe in that sort of stuff) or maybe it was because George was just…right there. Sitting right there, not making a sarcastic comment, not rolling his eyes, or having debates about the inner workings of the universe. Just George beside Dream on the pews, making him want to pull out all his heartstrings and demand he takes it from him without anything in return.

If the moment passed by without Dream doing anything, he might hate himself for the rest of his life, looking back at this moment and thinking to himself _why didn’t I tell him I might just love him?_

It didn’t have to be the three words. There were many ways to say it, anyway.

He felt the eyes of the thousands of angels on him as he quietly moved his pinky a little bit closer.

George’s warmth felt so close, it almost felt like Dream was committing a sin.

He grazed Georges pinky with his. At this point, neither of them were looking at the other. At this point, the little fires inside of Dream exploded in a billion little stars. Dream was on autopilot mode.

He wondered when was the last time he felt this real. This _alive._

And then George took Dreams pinky. The heavens above them watched as he slowly looped it around his. Dream never thought he’d do that. He never thought there was a _universe_ he’d do that. Yet—

They sat there on the church, in the crisp Vienna night with their pinkies looped around the other, not saying a single thing.

Dream liked it this way. If either of them said a word, the spell might break, the touch might lose all its meaning and gravity.

It was perfect like this, nothing he would change, nothing he would alter. Just George's pinky, looped around his. it was as if it made the entire world shrink into insignificance, and concentrated on _you,_ with a prejudice in your favor. It comforted him in a way he could allow himself to be comforted by, almost like an assurance that if Dream were to brush his pinky along with his, George would take it and hold him back in the silence. It was enough.  
  
Surely, this was enough.   
  
The goblet stayed still and soundless on the floor and neither of them had any plans to pick it up.

Moments passed, like moments naturally do, and it was time for them to leave the church.  
  


Dream wondered who it was in George's phone he stubbornly kept ignoring. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> woooo chapter 3 !! i promise u chapter 4 and the rest of the chapters are gonna follow a more eventful plotline !!! i had a lot of fun writing this one ... there's a lot of yearning here


	4. Wishbone

It was gradually getting darker and darker until it came to the point where both Dream and George grew hungrier by the second, their energy worn out by the afternoon sun. George pitched in the idea that they have a small, quiet dinner in Dreams hotel, but Dream was far from done with exploring Vienna— and so was George anyway.

He mentioned a farmers market just streets away from the church where he and his Grandma used to stop by after every Sunday mass. “It's got a lot of stalls, and I remember there were these picnic tables we can eat on. Oh my god, you’ve got to try their popsicles, there was a strawberry one which was…actually, really sour, don’t take it — but the chocolate banana one was so so good —” and on and on he went.

Dream listened contentedly, giving comments here and there only to hear him laugh. They had conversations like these sometimes, stupid and aimless conversations where they weren’t debating about alternate universes or the presence of god. Just mundane and simple things from their everyday life to shared interests. It was nice. It was easy.

George said they needed to take a bus going to the market, which wasn’t a problem for either of them at all. In fact, if they could, they would spend the whole night and morning just roaming the streets of Vienna.

If they could, they would spend each and every waking day in each other's presence, although they didn’t admit that to themselves. Not yet, at least. That's how they wanted the story to go. Who wouldn’t want a good story like that?

They hop on the bus, Dream taking George's hand in his. That's a new thing they do now too. Holding hands. Sometimes it's not their whole hand, sometimes it's the simple, uncomplicated brush of their fingers when they’re beside each other — then one of them would lock their pinky around the other, no questions asked. They’d stay like that, with their locked pinkies in-between them, sometimes talking about the secrets of the universe, sometimes talking about whether or not those marshmallows in Lucky Charms make any difference (George buys it only for those marshmallows. Dream removes them from his bowl). That was enough. None of them mentioned it. It was just…something that felt right.

This inexplicable tenderness grew inexplicable every minute they spend with each other, and both boys needn’t understand it. They don’t have a reason to.

All the other bus seats were taken, leaving Dream and George no option but to stand on the bus. Dream’s hand rested easily on the grab handle while George was probably too short to even reach it without his shirt accidentally lifting up and exposing a stretch of pale skin (a thought that burned feverishly in Dreams mind). He knew he was taller than George, but standing like this only further proved this fact.

They were both facing each other, Dreams body towering over him, caving him in. “Hey, wait, I want you to listen to something,” George cut off Dream when they were discussing the abomination that was orange juice and delighted on their shared preference for apple juice. George got his phone and earphones out of his pocket and handed the left earplug to Dream.

He took it. Asked, “What's the song?” but before George could answer him, he played the track. The familiar guitar strings came to life. Then the cascading violin. He had the feeling he’d know this song if it were softly playing in a supermarket or in a crowd filled mall, only because it was now forever marked with the memory of George, instantly making the song distinct and unforgettable.

“Stubborn Love,” Dream smiled. “You remembered it.”“Of course I do idiot. I liked this song.” Something bright and giddy tickled Dreams insides until it turned to mush. He didn’t think they could get any closer, but the cord of George's earphones somehow proved him wrong. He squeezed Georges pinky with his. Georges squeezed back, a secret communication, a secret reciprocation.  
“Oh, that reminds me,” Dream had to let go of George's hand to reach inside his own pocket for his little gift as George lowered down the volume in his phone.

Dream retrieved a modest figurine of an elephant, its material: smooth pink quartz warmed by his palm. He handed it to George, who took it with a giggle and a quiet “aw dream…”He was relieved George was too occupied marveling at the figurine to see him blush.

He started to babble. “I saw you looking at the stickers in that record shop and I wanted to give it to you but stickers are so lame, you’ll probably get tired of it and replace it with new ones so I got you something you can never replace. They were selling all these other cool crystal figurines in the shop but that was the only one I can afford with the money I have now. It's impulsive and I know it's not much but — well. Just wanted to give you something. It's okay if you don’t like it, by the way, I can just take it back.”

George simply kept smiling at him, an eyebrow lifted. “Dream,” he cupped the crystal figurine in his hands as if he could catch Dreams warmth. “Shut up. I love it. You are never getting this back from me even if you tried.” It was almost like he was challenging him.

It was the easiest thing in the world for Dream to smile back at him. “Okay,” When George took a final look at the elephant and placed it in his pocket, Dream caught his hand and intertwined his fingers with his again, except this time he joined his palm to his. A daring move. Dream was always ambitious. Holding each other by the pinky was nice, but why stop there? “Good.” He liked how George's hand cooled his. He squeezed, and George squeezed back. A secret communication, a secret reciprocation. George increased the volume in his phone, and the music continued to fill their ears.

The bus stopped. They get off quick and easy, hands glued together, and a song on repeat.

~

The farmer's market was illuminated by the lights of various bright stalls selling various different foods filled with various people all swarming in and out of the place. Fairy lights hung over them and the chilly night air was perfect and welcoming. George practically dragged Dream towards the busy market, telling him to hurry up before they run out of chocolate banana popsicles. “Dream, I don’t think you fully understand how good these popsicles are…”

There was so much happening at once. George didn’t know which stall to start with, or where to go. People passed by them in a blurred frenzy, some people lightly hitting him in the shoulder while quick “sorry’s” and “excuse me’s” were exchanged. Quickly, he handed Dream some cash and pointed to the notorious popsicle stand not so far from them. “Go buy two chocolate banana popsicles please!” Dream simply accepted the order and moved along obediently, disappearing into the crowd.

George started to walk aimlessly, passing by lines of people waiting for their food, people eating and laughing in picnic tables and displays of small cakes and pies. There were other stalls selling gigantic strawberries, others selling a varied selection of colorful vegetables.

He found himself in front of a stall selling salads and sandwiches and decided that a good sandwich would work perfectly as his light dinner. Maybe Dream would like a ham and cheese sandwich. Or a tomato salad? George carefully scanned through the menu on display when the cashier guy gave him an unanticipated greeting that almost made him jump. “Hey, can I help you with something?”

George buried his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “Just looking at the food,” He smiled out of politeness. The guy seemed to study him under his gaze, looking at him from head to toe. George shifted his footing, a little bit uncomfortable under the scrutiny.

“I’m not sure if I’ve seen you around here,” commented the guy, voice a little too honey sweet. He had an elbow against the counter and his chin rested on the heel of his palm. He tilted his head. “Are you from England? You sound like you have a British accent. Or is it Australian?  
“Oh, I’m from Brighton.”“That's from…”“England.”His lips pulled up into an eating grin, all white teeth, and hidden intentions. “Huh. I figured.” George bit back a comment on his lack of basic geographical knowledge.  
“Well, where are you headed to after this?”

He honestly didn’t expect the conversation to prolong. Besides, he sort of got annoyed when strangers try to speak to him (perhaps with Dream being the only exception) although despite this, he decided to just go along with it until the conversation ends and he eventually gets his sandwiches. He shrugged. “I don’t know actually.” Surely his short-lived and fast replies were an obvious sign for the guy to drop the conversation dead on the ground so he can move on. Well, he thought so at least.

“Ah, my bad. I’m not sure I introduced myself,” in a swift and nuanced motion, he extended a hand towards George — lazy but almost intentionally so, obviously trying to go for the relaxed and cool, unbothered type of persona. “My name's Ronan. And your name is…”  
Hesitantly, he took his hand and forced himself to shake it despite his better judgment. He did not expect Ronan's thumb to smoothly rub along his pale wrist, menacingly slow and far too unpleasant. It left unwanted electricity in its wake. He tried to fight back a shudder.

“George.” He was the first to let go of the handshake. With raw confidence and sheer smugness, Ronan leaned on the counter towards George and mused, words sticky, trying to lull around his tongue smoothly, “You’re really cute, George. Has anyone ever told you that?”

_Oh._ A common reflex for him in an uncomfortable situation such as this is to play it off as a joke. So he laughs. A weak sound, almost like a forced hiccup or cough. Despite the numerous occasions of unreciprocated interest and failed attempts at flirting on someone else’s end, George never knew what the best angle of rejection was.

So he took a step back from the stall, ready to forget about the sandwich only to bump against someone else. Swiftly turning around, his brown eyes met green ones and cool, pleasant relief instantly washed over the nervousness in the pit of his belly, a nervousness he did not even realize was smothering him.

Dream held two popsicles, one for him and George, and handed him one. “Hey,” He was forever grateful for the familiar presence. Taking the popsicle from his hand, he felt a small smile make its way to his lips. “Hey.”

“Um,” From the corner of his eye, George saw Ronan petulantly cross his arms. He seemed to be gawking at Dream, whose smile almost immediately disappeared when he directed a sharp and cold look back at him. Ronan tilted his head to the side, but this time it wasn’t out of palpable interest, it was of a small attempt of intimidation, something he miserably failed at compared to Dream, who stood across from him positively reeking of it. Ronan bumped in a monotoned “Hi,” as a greeting to the unexpected party.

George felt Dreams hand snake around his waist protectively. He ever so slowly brought him closer against him, engulfing George in a one-sided embrace. He looked to the smaller man beside him and softly asked “You wanna get a sandwich? What kind?” “mm… ham and cheese?” George just thought of the first kind of sandwich that came to mind, desperate to leave. He can practically feel the piercing look of Ronans eyes switching forth between Dream and George as if he could physically separate them from one another under his shifting gaze if he tried hard enough.

“Gotcha.” Dream popped his popsicle in his mouth and fished for his wallet. He took out some bills and swiftly counted them. He then slapped the money down on the counter and took out his popsicle, “One ham and cheese sandwich please,” Ronan kept his arms closed the whole time. They seemed to hold a deadly stare between each other, Dreams weight leaning against the one hand he has placed down on the dark wooden counter and Ronan with his stubborn arms crossed as if he refused to comply to his own job purely out of spite for Dream.

George didn’t quite understand the sudden change in Ronan’s behavior, didn’t quite understand why he was acting all threatened, but there was an unmistakable invisible tug of war happening, and he didn’t know what to do but stand there and watch it unfold. And, well, lick his popsicle. It was a tad too cold. Eh, George didn’t mind.

“To go.” Dream added, voice stone cold. George was relieved he wasn’t in Ronan's position because he would have flinched at just how impenetrable his gaze was, how bitter his tone. Ronan did flinch, and there was a slight hesitation when he grabbed the brown paper bag to deposit the long-awaited sandwich. He handed the bag to Dream, who took it without breaking his gaze, ever the stubborn head he was. Having to lean towards the boys to hand the bag, a window of opportunity presented itself for Ronan to steal one more look at George.

George was in the middle of licking his popsicle when he stopped, suddenly aware of Ronan’s eyes back on him. The nervousness and agitation he felt before flickered back to life like a torch. He watched as Ronan winked at him. Suddenly, Dream swiftly blocked his view, stepping in Ronans line of sight of George.

Dream smiled a malicious smile, with no intention of being warm nor welcoming. Quite the opposite, actually. His voice with vehement syrup, “You can keep the change. We’ll be heading out now.” Ronan simply looked away as Dream grabbed for George's hand. George took it.

As they walked, he placed an arm around his shoulder and pulled him close in his warmth. Something beamed bright inside of George when he realized he could have this side of Dream. He would definitely be lying if he said he didn't enjoy this protective and watchful side.

He didn’t know why he said it, or how he even gathered the audacity to say it but, “You know, you should have just posed as my boyfriend back there,”

Dream chocked on his popsicle. He retracted his arm from George and lightly hit his chest with a fist to stop himself from having a coughing fit. “Well geez, if you’re gonna react that way,” Mumbled George, fighting the urge to roll his eyes. Dream tried to wipe the spit on his mouth with the back of his hand, still coughing a little.

“Are you done?” There was a smug grin plastered on George’s cheeky face, and from the look Dream gave him, he could tell that he wanted to clean it right off.

“I’m sorry, _what?”_

George innocently shrugged. “I'm just saying, it would have worked. He would have backed off immediately instead of you having to act all tough and intimidating like that.” Dream tossed his unwanted popsicle in a trash can as they passed by it.  
“Oh, c’mon. Even if I did that, how are you so sure he cares whether or not you're taken? If anything he’ll probably be even more tempted to…” Dream stopped there. “Yeah.” They walked in silence for a while when Dream continued, “Why…do you want me to be your boyfriend, George?” Now it was George's turn to choke on his popsicle and Dreams turn to smile that mischievous little smile of his.

“Shut up. I did not insinuate that at all.” He lightly hit Dream on the shoulder. “You’re just putting words in my mouth now…”  
Dream dared to tease him, “I can put other things in your mou—“  
“Enough!” Yelped George, now aggressively hitting his shoulder. “Do not finish that sentence! Ugh, you are so annoying.”

~

Dream thought he saw George's cheeks dust a soft pink. Or maybe he just imagined it.

They checked out other food stalls together until they both agreed to eat somewhere else, somewhere nearby. George decided he wanted to get as far away from Ronan as possible, and Dream agreed a hundred and one percent. The image of Ronan looking at George that way was still tugging at the back of his mind, an insistent pounding on the door. Something green and ugly twisted in his gut whenever he thought about it. Dream knew he had the tendency to get jealous — and there was nothing wrong with it, it was human nature after all, only as long as he can keep it in check.

He doesn’t know how they ended up in a knock off version of Pancake House. They were just kind of wandering around, either of them occasionally making sporadic twists and turns as the other followed blindly.

It was a normal-looking cafe of sorts with not a lot of customers. Soft music played in some hidden speaker, and Dream led George to a vacant table. He pulled back his chair for him, dramatically bowing his head as he did so. “For you,” George directed a confused look at him. “Come now, sit sit! Make yourself feel at home, please,” He _relished_ the sound of his laugh. If he could keep it in a bottle he would.

George sat down on the chair Dream pulled for him and crossed his legs. He sat down on his own seat and motioned for a nearby waiter to fetch the menus for them as his stomach grumbled in hunger. “How's that sandwich by the way?”  
“Oh right! I forgot about that.” He placed the paper bag down on the table and opened it. He took the sandwich out but peered inside the bag a second time. He began to rummage around inside only to retrieve a small ripped paper. “What's that?” Asked Dream.

“Its…numbers,” George flipped it back twice like he was making sure he was seeing right.  
“It's Ronan's number I guess.” Dream thought he saw a small doodle of a heart.  
“Oh.” He hoped George didn’t pick up on the disappointment stuck in his throat. Alas, this short-lived hope was shattered when he saw George look at him with a soft look in his eyes. He breathed in heavily then released a sigh of exasperation.  
“What a waste of paper.” He started to crumple the tiny paper, reducing it to trash. “I have better tastes in men, obviously.” It's embarrassing how much George makes his heartstrings push and pull for him. It's embarrassing how he couldn’t control the hot rush of blood rise in his cheeks.  
“Obviously,” Dream agreed quietly. Maybe if he could see himself in the mirror, he’d catch himself with the same soft glint in George's eyes reflected back to his own.

“Hello,” greeted the waitress. “Are you interested in our Valentine's special?” Both boys looked at each other with raised eyebrows.  
“But…” started George. “It's not even Valentines —“  
“What is it?” Interrupted Dream, dismissively waving at George who gave him an annoyed look back. The waitress clasped her hands and began explaining.  
  
“We take a picture of the couple kissing — a quick peck on the lips, nothing too intimate. Well, I guess unless they want it to be. And we give you a free pancake each! Heart-shaped, pink, really good. The pictures are for a montage and right now, we are in desperate need of um…” she tilted her head. “the gay couples. We have too many straight couples and we want to have more er” She tilted her head to the other side. “diversity!” _Damn,_ thought Dream. _Capitalism is truly something else._

Dream looked to George and smirked. George refused to look back at him, and instead, laughed out an exaggerated noise. “No, no we are not —um, you’re mistaken, we —“  
He reached for George's waving hand and gently squeezed it, setting it down on the table. “My boyfriend and I would love some free pancakes!” This day could not get any better. They’ve already posed as husbands that one time for crying out loud. Now this time, they’ll get something out of lying! And then they can have a good laugh after that, enjoying a good plate of pink, heart-shaped pancakes for dinner. On paper, it was the perfect bit.

_In reality, it is the recipe for disaster,_ Dreams conscience pointed out. He ignored Pinocchio’s cricket, mentally swatting it away from his shoulder. George's eyes told him, _really? you’re actually serious?_

He allowed him a way out if he really wanted to take it, “Ah well. Unless my boyfriend is camera shy, then…” But he knew George liked a good challenge. So he took it. He shook his head and assured him “No, no. I’m not camera shy babe,” the unexpected pet name did stupid, giddy things to his heart and he internally damned George for that, damned himself for it too for allowing him to have this effect on him. He quietly said, “I’m craving some heart-shaped pancakes.” He was looking at Dream with a kind of tease in his eyes and he refused to let go of his hand, still placed peacefully on the table like it was meant to be there; a centerpiece, a decoration to show for affection.

The waitress’s face lit up. “Thank you so much! Hold on —“ she brought out a small Polaroid from her pocket and pressed a few buttons, turning it on. She then aimed it towards the ‘couple’ in question. “Would you like me to count to three to get you guys ready?”  
Dream was about to say yes, but George beat him to it. Dream hid their joined hands under the table as he whispered, “This pancake better be worth it.”

George scoffed and looked away from him, if only for a brief moment until Dream instinctively caught his head with his other warm hand. He held his head like that for what felt like the longest lifetime he’s ever lived. Just George's face in his hand resting there on his cheek. “1…” To his surprise, Dream could make out small freckles across George's pale and pinkish nose. You could count them if only you squint hard enough, but it's there. Suddenly Dream couldn’t help but feel a little bit stupid. He could not for the life of him stop discovering one more reason to fall for him as if he hasn’t already fallen in the deep deep cesspool of crush culture.  
“2…”

Dream wanted to believe George looked at him the same way. He willed himself to if only to anchor him, to feed the happy chemicals in his brain. George whispered so so softly, his lips so so close to his own, trembling ones, “As if you’re really doing this for pancakes, Dream.”

“3!” George smiled, and before Dream could question his taunting words, Dream caught the smile with his lips and kissed him like he was laying a petal on a pillow, delicate, careful and cautious, not really sure how he got here, not really sure why he’s questioning a good thing, a happy thing.

Then like an unanticipated surprise party, George pushed his lips against him and _kissed_ him back like an answer. A correct answer. He kissed him back with the intention to _kiss_ him. But it did not last long. 

The bright white flash faded. The waitress brought the camera down to get the Polaroid picture, slowly making its way up the Polaroid slot. And George's lips suddenly aren’t tangled with his. And his head suddenly isn't in his hands, and this moment locked in time will forever be a moment locked in time, suspended in the gravity only memories can hold and put together.

Even if the kiss was a lie, it somehow still hurt to continue on living his life where his lips aren’t perpetually collided with Georges. He knew he was fucked.

He knew he was really, really fucked. Because he loved George.

He loved George. And he was fucked.

“Alright! Done! Thank you so much again,” the waiter beamed at them and gently removed the polaroid picture. George gave her a small and polite smile. He wasn’t looking at Dream. He didn't notice his cold hand, alone under the table, missing Georges, and he wondered if he let go when their lips departed. He looked at him, hoping to find something, anything — any implication or hint that he was feeling it too, that he could just be in love too.

Dream couldn’t help but feel stupid for falling so so easily.

But George continued to look away, oblivious to his internal conflict. He was fiddling with the white table cloth to keep his pale and slender fingers busy. “We will be posting it in our montage board over there,” The waitress pointed behind them where a blank corkboard was hung against the wall waiting to be used, surrounded with dwindling, fake leaves and cut out red and white paper hearts. “You’ll be able to see it In time for Valentine's day. I’ll bring the free pancakes to you guys in 5 minutes! Again, thank you for your participation!” She left, her black stuttering heels fading as she went away and left both boys alone with the hanging remains of a kiss still hovering in the air between them like smoke from a distinguished candle flame.

George took a bite out of his ham and cheese sandwich and quietly chewed, cheeks full. He caught Dream staring at him. He looked back at his sandwich and to him, and brought it towards Dream. “Want some?” Dream waved his hand, no. George went back to eating as they silently waited for their pancakes.

“I just realized,” George started to remark, “Why would they give pancakes for dinner?” Dream thought about it, considering its random absurdity. “Huh, yeah. I guess it's hard to make heart-shaped steak.” With this, George lightly hummed in agreement, mouth full of sandwich. Dream could not stop his tongue from licking over his bottom lip to chase after the taste of George. He couldn’t help but recall how just mere minutes ago, the taste of George's chocolate banana popsicle and vanilla chapstick was on his lips.

They sat there in silence for what seemed like an expanding century as they waited for their dinner. George seemed to be perfectly normal, happily contented with his sandwich. He did not meet Dreams eyes. Dream worried if he was avoiding him.

His stomach continued to grumble as his mind continued to go into overdrive, a thousand and one errors all popping up at once like adware. He was, in a metaphorical sense, experiencing a sort of mental system malfunction and he had no one to blame but George for being the way he is, although most especially himself for bringing up the idea of kissing him, for literally everything that led to his slow but gradual downfall.

And yet, a part of him doesn’t regret it one bit. There was a thrill to falling, after all. Before you realize you really are falling, the body suspended in the air can’t help but think it was flying until the inevitable bone crush. So there was Dreams body, suspended mid-air, thinking itself a God and defying gravity. And there was George, eating his fucking sandwich. He finished it all in two minutes, right in time for the waitress to approach their table again, two plates on both hands. Only then did Dream really noticed her name tag. It read “Alyssa.”

Alyssa set the plates down. It really was pink, heart-shaped pancakes, not some light brown color trying to pose as pink. There was whipped cream on top of both pancakes and syrup spread generously on top. It smelled delightful and sweet. Both of them thanked Alyssa as she gave them one last smile and walked off.

~

George wished for a lot of things.

Everyone wishes for a lot of things the moment they wake up. They do it every single day. They wish for a good breakfast. For longer hours to sleep in. For an interesting life to wake up to. George knew a thing or two about wishes, he knew that life does not operate in people's desires but rather in its own twisted terms and rules.

_By chance._ Everything happens not because it was written set in stone by some glorified screenwriter in a shitty playwright. Everything happens because chance flipped a coin and decided that today it was going to be tails instead of heads.

So when George wished for Dream, he wasn’t exactly using his head. He was using his heart — all of his heart. It was when he pressed his lips against his and found himself disappointed it was not supposed to mean anything other than a joke, a silly bit, that he realized Dream was the subject of his desires. It was supposed to sound ridiculous, absurd even — falling for someone this easily, this plainly. Though what else was he supposed to do or to think? What was he to do but…let himself reach for him? As if falling for someone you’re only allowed a single day with had long term consequences, anyway.

George wished he was in that church again, alone with him, sitting beside him with no one but the painted angels in the high ceilings and their locked pinkies between them, something that just might have meant a little more than locked pinkies. George wished he was literally anywhere alone with Dream. He needed that privacy. Not because he was scared of the prying eyes of people when two boys kiss each other — he learned a long time ago how much that hardly mattered. No, he needed that privacy with Dream because all things affectionate and genuine should only be for the two of them, hidden away in a pocket of time only they know about. Because all things honest and true were supposed to be done in secret, for it was simply too big for the both of them to carry, especially for people to steal from them with unwanted glances and eavesdroppers.

George knew it, he knew it maybe as much as Dream knew it too. That something was happening here, and he was afraid both of them would have nothing to show for it but something that could have been love and two defeated cowards, neither of them winning. If Dreams claims were right -- if the universe really was kind and allowed him that perfect moment of privacy with him he so unfairly took for granted, he wouldn’t know what to do first. Kiss him senseless or express to him how much he actually despised both apple juice and orange juice. Fucks sake, just get a coke. Then maybe Dream would laugh. Then he’d be the one to kiss him senseless. Maybe.

So with this, George dared to wish. He wished for Dream quietly, afraid that he might hear the loud beating of his heart every time he cracked a wishbone for him.

“Oh wait, I have to make a phone call for my friend if you don’t mind, he’s probably wondering where I am,” Dream informed him, eyes not meeting his. He was too invested in making neat cuts across his pancakes. “Yeah sure.” George stuck his fork in the whipped cream and scooped it up to his mouth.  
“Ring ring ring” he suddenly singsonged from across him. He pointed his thumb and picky out to replicate a phone and brought it to his ear. He kept making ringing noises and George placed his fork down his plate, looking at him dumbfounded. “Pick up,” Dream whispered to him with a smile. Hesitantly, George did the same with his fingers and brought it to his own ear, not sure what bit Dream was playing at. “Um. Hello?”

“Hey Sapnap! How’re you doing?” George furrowed his eyebrows and felt a smile tug on his lips.  
“Hey uh. Dream. Whatcha doing?”  
“Oh, nothing much. Just jumped on a train to Vienna and met a stranger there, now I’m in a weird cafe I don’t know having pink pancakes for dinner with him.” He picked on his pancakes with a fork. “This stranger… he was really annoying at first I gotta tell you.” George gave him an exasperated look.  
“C’mon now, I’m sure he’s not that bad,”   
“You should meet him.”  
“You think I’d like him? He does sound like a hoot. Maybe he and I will be best of friends, then we can become the best of friends and ghost you.”  
“Well, I wouldn’t say that,” Dream moved his head to the side and rolled his eyes. “I found him first after all.”

George lightly laughed. Dream continued. “I hated how cynical he was. He kept arguing with me about love and — and the universe and other bullshit. He is so odd. The oddest person I’ve ever met.” He paused, and George thought he imagined something flash over his green wisteria eyes, something like gentleness or weakness. He could not decide which it was. Dream went back to picking on his pancakes.  
“I'm trying to convince him that the universe can be kind. I don’t think he wants to believe it, though, and I think it’ll be hard to persuade him. He keeps saying things like everything is temporary, that all we have is the reality we live in.”  
“I think he has a point.”  
“No. He’s wrong. He says that like it's a bad thing.” George met Dreams eyes. They held their exchanged look until Dream looked back down on his plate.   
“But…I don’t know. I like him enough that I can talk to him for the entire day. I don’t even care if he’s wrong, Its so weird.”  
George joked, “He sounds like a fun guy."  
Dream's other hand on the table clenched into a fist. He gave a small smile and ignored George's comment. He asked, “What do you think that says about me?”

George pursed his lips and licked them, thinking of a good enough answer. “Hm. I don’t know what to tell you, Dream. That certainly is weird. As your friend I say…” He lifted his eyebrows and looked to the ceiling, pretending to think. He looked back at Dream with a straight face.  
“You are absolutely insane. Crazy. Out of your mind. Leave him right now before you two kill each other.” Dream laughed. He joined him. After their laughter faded, they found themselves sitting in comfortable silence once again.

“I think you’re just as odd as he is, though.” George started, voice low. “And maybe…maybe that works. Maybe it can work.”  
Their eyes found each other. They could not break their stare even if they could.  
“You think so?”

He did not know where the sudden wave of motivation and confidence came from, but it invigorated him.  
“Sure. I think It would be really great."  
“What would be great?”

When you wish for something, you need to have hope for it. You need to believe in it, even if it feels childish, even if it was a little foolish. Hope is a tether that keeps you from falling so you can reach towards your human desires, and George pulled it towards him just because he could. “If it's us.” He placed his makeshift ‘phone’ (his hand) down on the table. He wasn’t posing as Sapnap, Dreams friend when he said “What if it's us?” _What if you're something to me? What if I can be something to you?_

_What if it's us? Then what will we do?_ George kept it all in his head. 

The bell rang in the doorway as customers entered the cafe. The clash of champagne glasses as people talk futile conversations. The sound of knives cutting through white porcelain plates and the sound of food sizzling on the frying pans in the kitchen — all of these things were up in full volume because George was so hyperaware of everything happening right now… like the blush that spread across Dream cheeks. It was unmissable and George felt a sense of pride knowing he was the culprit who caused it.

Dream sucked in his bottom lip with his teeth, as he puts his hand away from his ear. “Do you wanna get out of here?”  
“Please.”

They pay for their pancakes and head out the door into the crisped night air quietly billowing in the streets, corners, and crevices of Vienna.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a twt now: @mcbvnny


	5. What if its us?

The streets were colder now as the night reigned over Vienna, yet townspeople and some tourists are still seen roaming around here and there. A poet by the river. A cat lazily spread over a window sills ledge. Someone's daughter running around in a restaurant. Everything brimmed with so much life and wonder and story. Dream wanted to feel sorry for George for not appreciating the beauty of it all, he really did. But he was way more excited over the fact that he could be the one to introduce it to him, to really show him how wonderful it all was.

He knew George was a tough one to crack. If there was one thing they had in common, it was their stubbornness. They were both so sure of their beliefs and ideals, they held onto it like it was the only thing keeping them lodged in life. Dream could have easily let George have his way, let him live his life how he wanted to.

But George was truly… _something._

He was truly something when he accepted his hand to take him to Vienna in an impulse. He was truly something when he showed Dream a part of his childhood, trusted him with that secret part of himself despite only knowing him for a few hours. He was truly, _unbelievably_ something when he kissed him in that cafe…with the intention to exploit it for a free dinner.

_What if it's us?_ He had said, voice almost a whisper. The words, his voice, his tease, just — _George_ …it was the only thing in his mind, taunting him like a shadow he can’t get rid of. He wondered if there was a moment in time where he was this head over heels over someone.

A little more of his stomach dropped when he came to terms with the fact that he has never felt this way before. Not quite. Not like this.

They walked, side by side, taking their time to breathe in the cool air that surrounded them. It was a quiet night in Vienna. If you could hear closely, you can make out the sound of the moon gently humming a lullaby.

Two men with parish clothing walked past them, speaking in rushed, whispered german.

“Hey, check these guys out,” Dream nudged George with his elbow when the men were a good few meters away from them. Dream, with a low voice, imitated “ _Hey, Keith. I’m not wearing any underwear under this robe._ ” In another voice, he replied to himself, “ _Oh really now?_ ” George covered his mouth and softly laughed behind it. Dream continued, “ _Yes. Does that frighten you?_ ”

He lightly punched him in the arm, “Stop. You’re so annoying” But he kept giggling. They watched the two men ahead of them make a turn and disappear to a different section of the street.

“Hey,”  
“What?”  
“Let me tell you a secret.” He held onto George’s sleeve to make him halt in his tracks.

“What?” He asked a second time, oblivious to the loud pounding of Dreams heart.  
“Come here,” is his reply, gesturing for George to move closer.

His question was still on repeat in his head. _What if it's us?_ What did he mean by that?

No, Dream knew what he meant. Maybe he just wouldn’t believe it. No, not until —

George thought he was going to whisper something in his ear, some fake secret that gave Dream the perfect angle to simply tilt his head a certain direction to meet George’s lips as it covered the distance between them. _Closer, closer. Almost there._

Dream raised a hand and tucked a strand of hair over his ear. George did not stop him. Their lips were an inch away. _So close._ He can just easily, without a thought, just —

And then two kids pushed and broke through them, running and screaming cheerfully as they chase each other. The distance between them was back and magnetic as ever as they helplessly watched the screaming children go by, unsupervised. The moment was ruined. Destroyed. And Dream felt like a fool again. _Fuck._

Suddenly, he didn’t know what to do with his hands, left to their own devices. He scratched his neck, feeling exposed to too many things all at once. To the chilly night air, now pricking on his arms, to the yellow lights of streetlamp dimly illuminating their path, and to George, his own hands buried in the pockets of his jeans. George blurted out, “Um. I—“

“I- I was just —“ _Fuck._

Suddenly a middle-aged woman, breath heaving and knees nearly giving up, came up to them. In a heavy German accent, she heaved out, “Hello there. Have you seen um —“ Inhale. “Two kids. One boy and one,” exhale. “One girl. They went this direction and I can’t seem to,” She looked around her as she was trying to catch her breath. Dream didn’t know if he should hold her up — she looked close to collapsing right then and there. “Can’t seem to find them.” By the looks of it, she was probably running a marathon around Europe. Dream almost felt bad if it weren’t for her kids completely ruining…something. Whatever that was.

Dream pointed to the direction they went. “They ran over there.” She straightened herself out, running her hands over her white blouse to try and smooth over the creases. She sighed. “Towards the amusement park, I presume. Little shits.”  
  
George looked to Dream with piqued interest. He mouthed, “Amusement park?”

“The Wurstelprater amusement park, yes,” said the woman, who noticed George. She placed her hands on her hips. “Are you boys headed there as well?”

They shared a look.

Maybe it was for the best they don’t talk about what could have happened if those little shits never interrupted them.

  
  


~

  
  
  
  


There were a lot of people screaming. I guess you could expect that from an amusement park. Purple lights from amusement rides shined down on them. There was a lot of noise and clatter, but Dream focused on George's hand guiding him through the crowd. There were definitely more people here than there was in that farmer's market, no doubt about that.

They started off with big with the main attraction: a giant roller coaster with three loops in total and steep dips.

George tilted his head far up to get the whole view of it just so he could even begin to fathom how big it was. “I’d say that's about a 300-foot drop, Georgie,” said Dream. He had a cheeky grin plastered on his face. “Think you could take it?” George knew it was the grin that wanted him to accept his silly challenges. Unbeknownst to Dream, George would do just about anything he asked him to do. It was his little secret.

“Race you there!” he leaped to his feet and ran ahead of him, Dream following suit.

George may not look like it, but he can stomach his fair share of rollercoasters perfectly alright. They ended up going for two rounds. Three.

On the fourth round, when the rollercoaster slowed down to a stop and passengers stepped out of their seats dizzy, some covering their mouths to keep from vomiting while others were holding back tears — George piped up, “One more one more!”

“George,” Dream’s hair was a _mess._ Strands of dirty blonde hair (George thought they looked like a light brown color in the moonlight) were sticking out everywhere. His knuckles were white from gripping the safety handles too tight, and he was almost breathless. His voice was raspy from the sheer amount of times he screamed at the top of his lungs. “You said that on our third go.”

George clapped his hands. “And now I’m saying it in our fourth!”  
“You want me to die,”  
“Of fun!”

Dream looked at him dead in the eye. George stared back. He didn’t want to have to do it but...

He took out the crystal elephant from his pocket, the one Dream gave him, and held it up to his face. “Please,” he said in a small voice, speaking as the elephant.  
“Oh, Jesus,”  
“Pwese Dweamie.”  
“No. You really think I’m that easy?”  
George pouted his lips. They ended up going for another round.

~

  
  
  


Dream dragged him to a whack a mole game. He was, for lack of a better term, a fucking beast at it. He was crouched down, hitting the machine on repeat like a mad man, eyes scanning for moles and clairvoyantly guessing where the next one was going to pop up. The machine was going crazy, making noises every time he scored a point, which George swore was every millisecond.

George, on the other hand, was struggling. “How come you have all these points!?”

“Cause I’m just tapping em! you don’t have to kill em!”

George looked to the hammer in his hand and tried out Dreams tactic, a laugh slowly building up inside him until it burst out of his throat. He was jumping up and down, his nerves were swimming in rushed ecstasy as his machine started to blink colorful lights and make all sorts of noises, mimicking Dream. They went crazy, practically _destroying_ the machines. The gamekeeper simply leaned back against the wall and watched it happen with crossed arms.

  
  


~

  
  
  
  


it was the ring tossing game next, and Dream was feeling confident.

“Dream, I am telling you —“ George was pulling at his sleeve, wanting to check out the cotton candy cart. “this game is rigged. I’ve tried it countless times and you’re just going to waste all your money.”

Dream simply swatted him away with a hand. He lined the hoop in his desired direction. His eyes were focused. “I know what I’m doing, Georgie.” He adjusted his aim. “Watch and learn.”  
George mumbled under his breath, “You are hopeless,”

Dream ignored him. He threw the hoop, and It fell off the tip of the glass bottle just as George predicted.

George crossed his arms, impatient, and deadpans “Wow. That's amazing. Now c’mon, the line is getting longer —“

Dream turned to him with an open palm “You have any more coins?”

He sighed.

How could George say no to him? God, _he_ was the hopeless one. Hopelessly infatuated with him, that is.Maybe he should smack himself in the face…instead he reluctantly gave Dream some coins. “Listen, I didn’t bring a lot of money with me, okay? You better not waste it.”

Dream went further away from the stall to reposition himself. He had three hoops. If he got all three right, he gets a prize of his choice, which quite frankly, was really stupid since it would be a miracle if he even got one hoop in. George was sure this game was a ploy to exploit people for their money, and he didn’t even know why it still operated.

Dream started to go into narration. “Dream on the mound,”

George rolled his eyes.  
“He adjusts his grip,” Dream adjusted his grip accordingly. “Positions his stance,” he started shifting on his legs. “He takes the curve…here’s the windup!” He raised the hoop, “And the pitch!”

The hoop smoothly met its landing, perfectly hitting its mark. “LETS FUCKING GO!”

“NO WAY!” George cheered just as he did. “DREAM YOU DID IT!”

and he continued to do it for the next two hoops.

The gamekeeper whistled, impressed. “Alright, pick your prize.”

Dream picked an arcade ring. George looked at him with a raised eyebrow and said, “An arcade ring? really? Not the panda over there?”

“Nope,” Dream went down on one knee in front of him, his grin glowing in this light. He looked up at George and raised his hand towards him. “enjoy the small things,” he got George’s hand and placed the ring on his palm, made him close it into a fist. He stood up and ruffled his hair. George shoved him off, but he wasn’t even trying to hide his smile.

  
  


~

  
  


“You got some cotton candy on your nose,” Dream reached out and wiped the pink sugary fluff off George’s nose with a thumb. He stuck it to his mouth and licked it off while George muttered “Gross, Dream.”

On his finger was a fake emerald arcade ring.

Dream should be concerned about the copious amount of sweets George was taking, although to be fair he was taking the same amount as he was anyway, so he shouldn’t be complaining.

George got his phone from his pocket and swiftly glanced at it. Dream noticed he occasionally did that.

”If you need to call or text someone it's okay, y’know?” he laughed.  
“No, no yeah, I know. I was just checking the time.” He continued eating his cotton candy with Dream getting a piece or two sometimes.

“You know, I used to think cotton candy just came out of thin air,”  
“What?” George smiled at him. “That's ridiculous.”  
“Yeah, seriously! I thought the cotton candy machine weaved the air around with a stick until it became cotton candy. I didn't know there was some sort of mix you needed to put inside it. So iI thought there was sugar in the air. And id stuck out my tongue out in the air when I'm craving for something sweet.” George laughed at that. “Mind you, I was like, four, okay?”

“Your imagination is odd.”  
“Well, Einstein says imagination is more important than knowledge,”  
“Certainly, it's kinder.” George shot back. He looked to the side and suddenly stopped in his tracks. “Wait. Stay there, I’ll be right back.”

Dream watched as George walked to a vending machine. He threw the white stick that used to be his cotton candy in a trash bin beside it. He thought that was all he needed to do, but then George stepped in front of the vending machine and pulled out his last dime.

He came back holding a juice box. It was apple juice. George held it up for him to take, but Dream just stared at it. “I thought you don’t have any money left?”  
“Yeah, I don’t. But you like apple juice right?”

Dream took the juice box from his hand.

It was this moment that Dream realized that the art of falling for someone was an easy thing to master. And he did it exceptionally well.

~

They ended up on the Ferris wheel. They were gradually ascending up the highest point, and Dream could see his breath in the air from the sheer amount of coldness that clung to his entire body.

The moon continued its moon song and below it stood Vienna. Beautiful, alive, and bewitching Vienna.

Dream already missed this moment, hanging in the air with George beside him with the world spread out before them like it was theirs to explore and theirs alone. He missed this moment before it even ended.

George was pointing to the buildings below them, streets they’ve been to, even the church from before. Dream wasn’t looking though, wasn’t paying attention to any of it.

“Dream?”  
“Yes?”

“Do you know how to look for constellations?” _Yes. Yes, I do. I’ve done it since I was a kid._ He doesn’t say this though. He liked hearing George’s British accent. He liked how he pronounced certain words, how his syllables curved and dipped down his tongue.

Instead, he said “No. No, I don’t. Show me.”  
So George pointed to the stars in the night sky while Dream looked at his hand and thought about how it perfectly intertwined with his.

He was saying something about the great dipper when Dream asked, “What did you mean?"  
George looked away from the sky and dropped his pointed finger. The Ferris wheel stopped at the highest point and stayed suspended there for the time being. The view was breathtaking.

But both boys didn’t notice. Dream held George’s stare.

“What?”  
“What did you mean when you said ‘what if its us’? In the cafe? You said that, remember?”

George was silent, his eyes unblinking.

“And — and you told me —“ Dream couldn’t stop the words from coming. “You told me you knew I wasn’t doing it for pancakes. When I kissed you.”

The silence on George’s end was deafening, but Dream pushed. He needed to know. It hurts to not know, and maybe it’ll hurt even more to know George’s answer, but he didn’t even care. He was tired of guessing.

Guessing was fucking painful. Guessing hurt the most.

“So what was I doing it for?” he was surprised when he heard the crack in his voice. “Tell me, George.” _What do you want? Why are you doing this to me?_ He was a dam breaking in the seams. “Hm?”

He didn’t know when George’s lips collided with his. He didn’t know when his hands traveled to his brown hair in shock but he quickly learned how to intertwine his fingers with his curls and gently clench them tight in a fist. It turned out he was a fast learner.  
  
He didn’t know when George started to push him against his seat or when he climbed up his lap and straddled him there. He didn’t know when George caught his head in his small small hands, holding him by the sides of his face as if Dream were to disappear into thin air if he didn’t hold onto him for dear life like this. Their lips parted for air, and Dream swore to himself he'll never let go. 

"You talk too much," he whispered, and Dream couldn't love him any less. 

It all happened slowly as if the hours were taking their sweet time stretching out this moment forever. But it also happened too quickly, because the Ferris wheel gradually began its inevitable descent, and both Dream and George missed the breathtaking view from above. Neither of them minded, though. 

It appeared that Dream didn’t know about a lot of things. Like when George started falling for him too.

The moon took them apart quietly and cast shadows of luminous light down the hollow shape of their bodies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> twitter: @mcbvnny 
> 
> this chapter (and the next) will be the last two fluff/happy scenes so ! the angst tags are there for a reason after all >:))
> 
> this chapter is shorter than the rest, I hope that's okay!  
> 150 kudos ? and then I'll update ?


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